


HBO WI: Joffrey from Game of Thrones replaced with Octavian from Rome

by Hotpoint



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Rome (TV 2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 50,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotpoint/pseuds/Hotpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if you took the mind of a sociopathic teenage genius from one HBO series and put it in the body of a psychopathic teenage idiot from another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> _Hi All, some of you might have already seen this story over on Alternate History Forums of Spacebattles Forums. Just posting up here too._
> 
> _Timeline wise this tale begins at the time of the first episode of[Game of Thrones](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Game_of_Thrones_\(TV_series\)), with [Octavian's](http://hbo-rome.wikia.com/wiki/Octavian) mind as of the end of [Rome](http://hbo-rome.wikia.com/wiki/Rome_\(series\)) episode 2:03 jumping into [Joffrey](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Joffrey_Baratheon) as he travels with the King's retinue to [Winterfell](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Winterfell). I'll add hyperlinked references in the author's notes at the bottom of each section to help any reader who isn't familiar with either franchise._
> 
> _Rather than posting all completed parts at once I'll be putting up one part a day here until caught up._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

* * *

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_"You are being counselled at this very moment"_

**King Joffrey to Lord Tywin Lannister - 299 AL**

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**Winterfell - 298 AL**

"Joffrey I'm talking to you!" a woman's voice interrupted his reading, it taking a second for Octavian to realise who it belonged to.

"Sorry... Mother" Octavian replied eventually, trying not to sound too aggrieved at the intrusion as he reluctantly looked up from the page he was on. "Is there something wrong?" he queried.

Cersei gave him a look of reproach. "You know full well that you need to wash and dress for tonight's banquet" she reminded the boy. "Your father expects you to make a good impression on these Northern Oafs" she continued, "Although I'm sure simply spitting on the floor and taking too much strong drink would suffice" she said, sneering at the backward and unrefined House that controlled the largest, but nevertheless also the poorest, of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

"Is it that time already?" Octavian responded in surprise, the book must be even more engrossing than he thought if he had been reading most of the afternoon. "I'll finish this page and prepare immediately" he promised, biting back the comment that if anything her own husband was more of a boorish oaf than Ned Stark. Cersei clearly liked to put herself on a pedestal even though in Octavian's estimation her drunken spouse obviously preferred bending whores over them.

"See that you do" Cersei told him, turning around and heading out of the door of the room he had been given for the duration of their stay by their hosts.

Octavian sighed. "Another world, another life and I still end up with a mother that won't let me read in peace" he grumbled to himself, leaning back in his chair.

Placing a bookmark in the weighty tome Octavian closed it and read the title again. _The Lives of Four Kings_ gave an insight into the politics and society of this new world that Octavian had been sorely lacking, and it wasn't as hard going as _The History of the Greater and Lesser Houses_ had been the previous day. True the prose sorely lacked something, the author was certainly no Uncle Gaius, but at least it wasn't simply dry facts mixed with obvious propaganda.

"I must ask the dwarf to recommend some more books" Octavian decided, having already worked out that while the rest of his new "family" were blessed with good looks and athleticism the most diminutive member had apparently gotten most of the brains. Tyrion had in fact been more than a touch surprised at his "nephew" politely asking his advice the first time and had then been extremely shocked that the boy actually _had_ borrowed the two suggested books from the Stark library to read them.

Octavian yawned and leaned back in his chair further to stretch. Finding himself a Prince and heir to the throne was nice enough, and when he came to rule he would surely do better than his new "father" he knew. Honestly, having Robert Baratheon as King of Westeros was akin to having Titus Pullo as a Consul of Rome, Octavian thought to himself with a chuckle. Now that he came to think of it his other new "uncle" Stannis was an even grimmer version of Pullo's stoic, stonewall Catonian commanding officer and erstwhile friend Lucius Vorenus.

Standing up and pushing back his chair Octavian frowned. Thinking of family he suspected from quiet observation that there was something more going on between Cersei and her brother Jaime than there should be between siblings. Having screwed his own sister Octavia once however he decided he wasn't in much of a position to criticise anyone else on the subject of incest so it was all rather academic as long as nobody else found out he decided.

Going over to the dressing table and looking in the mirror Octavian surveyed his new face for what seemed like the thousandth time. "I'm just going to assume that this otherwise inexplicable state of affairs came about because I told my sister I didn't believe in the Gods and they decided to show me that the universe is more mysterious than I thought" he remarked to himself. "If I'm wrong, or if I'm supposed to do something in particular while I'm here, you're going to have to provide some kind of clue" he asked of any deity that might be listening.

"Very well" he said after a lengthy pause during which neither the Gods of Rome nor those of Westeros responded to his appeal for guidance. "If you want me to go about things the way I personally think is logical and best then please send me absolutely no sign" he requested, crossing his arms while still looking in the mirror. "As you wish then" he continued after another long pause, unable to resist a smirk that absolutely nothing had happened. "It's on you now, don't complain if you don't get the end result you desired" he stated, fervently hoping that he hadn't just dived deep into the ocean of blasphemy.

Looking out through the eyes of Joffrey Baratheon, Gaius Octavian of the Julii straightened up and dispassionately weighed what he saw of his new self. "I really hope that this arsehole didn't get my body in return because if he did then the Republic is monumentally buggered" he concluded sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Octavian's mother[Atia](http://hbo-rome.wikia.com/wiki/Atia) isn't as bad as Joffrey's mother [Cersei](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Cersei_Lannister) but he is at least somewhat used to having an overbearing parent!_


	2. Part II

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"We've had virtuous kings, and we've had genius kings... but I don't know if we've ever been blessed with a virtuous genius for a king!"_

**Tyrion Lannister - 299 AL**

\----------

** Winterfell - 298 AL **

"He's not what I expected based on the rumours" Catelyn Stark quietly remarked to her husband after Prince Joffrey relocated from his initial seat at the main table to another in the hall and began animatedly discussing science and politics over the next course of dinner with both his uncle Tyrion and Maester Luwin.

Sat beside her Eddard Stark shrugged. "The boy probably just needed to grow up" he suggested, although it was hard to reconcile the selfish, spoiled brat of reputation with Prince Joffrey in the flesh. "Well, perhaps it's an even better match than we thought?" he added hopefully.

"To be honest I think Sansa is so taken with the notion of being wed to the heir to the throne she wouldn't have objected even if the rumours had been a true representation of his personality" Catelyn observed. "His father appears happier than his mother regarding the betrothal in case you hadn't noticed" she continued knowingly, looking across to where the King and Queen were playing court, talking to various northern dignitaries invited to Winterfell for the rare appearance of the royal family so far from King's Landing.

Ned reached for a cup of wine. "And I'm sure you'll feel the same way when you're faced with the prospect of no longer being the most important woman in Robb's life" he responded with a wry smile that was so barely evident on his face that few but Catelyn would have even noticed it.

Octavian was enjoying the conversation more than the meal, although he had to admit the wine imported from Dorne far in the south was a match in quality for even the finest Falernian from back home. Although in many ways the social and governance structure of Westeros was undoubtedly primitive compared to that of the Roman Republic Octavian was nonetheless starting to realise that they weren't inferior to Rome in everything.

For example, when it came to Civil Engineering Westeros badly needed a better road network Octavian knew, and they would surely benefit greatly from improved sanitation too, but there were innovations here such as the "Far-Eye" utilising lenses imported from Myr in Essos and the "stirrup" device for riding horses which would have been of great utility to The Republic.

Moreover from his perspective as a seventeen year-old boy the girls here weren't too bad either Octavian decided, surreptitiously directing an appreciative glance towards the elder Stark daughter that his "father" the King intended him to marry. Unlike most boys his age the pursuit of the fairer sex hadn't ever really been a major preoccupation of his but that didn't mean Octavian didn't have occasional thoughts on the matter, or that he failed to appreciate the view on a more than aesthetic level. 

By chance Sansa turned her head at that very moment and caught his glance, blushing as Octavian tried not to do likewise having been caught out. 

"You'll get to look her over properly in good time" an amused Tyrion told the boy he thought his oldest nephew. "Wearing far less too" he added, grinning as Octavian's obvious embarrassment. "You may want to get some practice with at least one other young lady before the Bedding Ceremony however" he advised, semi-seriously.

Not being one to enjoy anyone scoring verbal points on him Octavian looked Tyrion in the eyes. "Already have" he replied smugly, recalling the girl in the high-class brothel Pullo had taken him too after his mother Atia insisted on him losing his virginity. Although he had described the experience as merely "pleasant" to the legionary that had been understating the case somewhat, even if he still couldn't quite grasp why so many men seemed utterly obsessed with sex rather than treating it as just another recreational activity.

Once again taken aback by something the boy had said, an all too common occurrence recently, Tyrion nevertheless quickly gathered his wits. "I'm so proud" he declared, feigning to wipe away a tear. "You're definitely my nephew" he continued, grinning even more broadly. "For our next lesson I think we should skip politics and I'll explain how to coordinate a threesome."

Maester Luwin coughed. "And with that I'll go find another table" he said, getting up before giving both of them a disapproving look.

"From what I've heard I'm sure Grand Maester Pycelle would have plenty of useful advice to offer on the subject" Tyrion wryly observed as Luwin left them. "More wine?" he asked Octavian, pouring some for himself.

Octavian shook his head. "Best not, I've still got to finish reading the Life of Four Kings in the morning before we start packing to head back to King's Landing and a hangover wouldn't help" he replied.

Tyrion frowned. "I'm all for education and broadening one's mind" he responded, "but if it starts to interfere with your drinking then you need to reevaluate your priorities" he stated seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **Note from the author:**  
>  __  
>  _The Romans were certainly ahead of the Westerosi in terms of infrastructure but lacked later technical innovations such as the stirrup, horse-collar or indeed the telescope (known in Westeros as the_[Far Eye](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Far-eye))  
> 


	3. Part III

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

* * *

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_"Wars, both civil and foreign, I undertook throughout the world, on sea and land, and when victorious I spared all citizens who sued for pardon. The foreign nations which could with safety be pardoned I preferred to save rather than to destroy"_

**Joffrey Augustus, Emperor of Westeros and Essos - 356 AL**

\----------

** The Kingsroad - 298 AL **

When Octavian gained the throne upgrading the so-called road they had been traversing into a proper highway of Roman design and construction was going to be towards the top of his to-do list he decided as they finally arrived at the Crossroad’s Inn roughly half way to their final destination. It wasn't that the Westerosi even had the excuse of not knowing what a decent road actually was, he thought, rolling his eyes. According to his reading not only had the Valyrian Freehold constructed a vast road network of their own in days past, much of which was still extant in Essos, but even today the City-States there constructed and maintained paved roads of their own to bolster trade.

Thanks to the poor state of the current transport infrastructure in Westeros the journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took an entire month at present, which was wholly unacceptable both in terms of rapid military deployment when required and perhaps even more importantly the reduction in economically beneficial trade during peacetime, Octavian knew. What were these people spending their tax revenue on, he wondered sadly?

The King himself was sat at a table inside the Inn, with a typically overly-generous meal and too much drink set before him and his friend Eddard Stark. Though his friends and close associates called him the abbreviated form "Ned" rather than Eddard, and most others addressed him as Lord Stark, Octavian still considered the naming conventions generally simpler here than in Rome, although the "family" name assigned to illegitimate offspring added a potentially nasty edge to things the new heir to the Iron Throne noted disparagingly.

Stark's own bastard Jon, given the second name "Snow" to indicate his mother was not his father's wife, had headed off northwards to join the Night's Watch guarding the wall at the far end of the kingdom, and Tyrion had joined him in order to see the reputedly gigantic construction first-hand. From Octavian's perspective it was a great pity the dwarf was gone because without him there was a distinct lack of decent conversation and debate to be had meaning that the next few weeks of travel would be even more tedious than they would have been.

Shortly before they left Winterfell another of Stark's sons, this one legitimate, had fallen whilst climbing the walls of the castle. The boy being badly injured and still comatose when they set out for King's Landing Octavian had made sure to be among the first to offer his condolences for the lads condition and let his family know his prayers with with young Brandon. After doing so he overheard the eldest of Stark's sons Robb whisper to his families Ward Theon that perhaps the Prince wasn't the "Right Royal Prick" others said he was, causing Octavian to inwardly smile. If you can fake sincerity you've got it made, he had thought to himself before going back to his books.

The more he learned of this world the more Octavian realised the way the ruling Houses of Westeros looked down upon the plebeian masses here was as bad as the way they looked down on illegitimate members of their own families. Although the Roman Republic did itself frown upon illegitimacy to some extent, and still maintained an aristocracy of sorts even after abolishing the monarchy centuries before, it was nevertheless still easier there for a man of talent and ability to rise above the station he was born into than it was here, to the benefit of himself and society as a whole. Octavian’s uncle, Gaius Julius Caesar, had long championed the cause of the common people above that of the Equestrian Order, as indeed had Caesar’s own uncle the famous general and record-breaking seven-time Consul-of-Rome Gaius Marius before him, and although a noble by birth, not one of the people himself, Octavian was determined to continue the tradition of his family and be a man _for_ the people.

You didn’t have to be generally fond of people as individuals to care about the welfare of people generally after all.

Having already eaten a light lunch, and knowing that his uninvited presence at their table would not be welcomed by Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark, Octavian went for a walk, shadowed as always by his bodyguard the badly scarred and physically imposing Sandor Clegane. Often referred to both in insult and sometimes grudging respect as “The Hound”, in certain ways the battle-hardened Clegane reminded Octavian of Titus Pullo, although lacking much of the former legionary’s joviality and excessive familiarity and not being quite as foul-mouthed.

Encountering Sansa Stark, as she walked her pet direwolf on a leash around the temporary camp the Royal Baggage Train had formed near the Inn, it seemed apt to inquire if she might wish to join him on his own walk. She readily agreed, looking very pleased at the invitation, and with Clegane now acting as a chaperone of sorts, as well as protection, they headed for the riverbank nearby.

Unfortunately while he was a skilled debater if the topics were more academic Octavian was useless at talking to girls. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable at the resulting long awkward silences as they strolled side-by-side he found himself wishing that he hadn’t always tuned out when his sister had prattled on about things that mattered to her. Sansa seemed to expect him to lead the conversation which didn’t help at all so it was with much relief that they came upon her younger sister Arya at the riverbank engaged in a mock sword-fight with another child, the two of them waving sticks at each other as her own pet direwolf lay basking in the sun nearby.

Octavian was a self-confessed middling swordsmen but he still knew a great deal more about swordplay than he knew about women and thanking the gods that his mother had insisted on Titus Pullo teaching him the basics he picked a stick of his own off the ground. “Who are you that attacks the sister of my intended bride?” he inquired of the boy haughtily, approaching the children with a determined stride.

The boy gaped at being addressed by the Prince and swiftly dropped to his knees, head bowed. “I wasn’t attacking her, your highness” he responded, voice trembling. “Honest I wasn’t” he insisted.

“We were just playing” Arya intervened, “He’s Mycah, the butcher’s boy and my friend” she added, hoping that the boy wasn’t going to get into trouble.

Octavian adopted a grin. “If I thought he was really trying to hurt you I’d have drawn my sword in your defence not picked up this stick” he replied. “Although from his form he looked like the one that needed saving from you” he continued. “Get up and watch boy, you might learn something” he said, holding his own stick out towards Arya who initially looked amazed before grinning herself and getting into a fighting stance.

“Arya you can’t hit Prince Joffrey with a stick!” Sansa protested as the two of them started to slash and parry, horribly embarrassed at the antics of her tomboyish sister although unsurprised at Joffrey behaving like her brothers did. Robb and Jon had played like this together for as long as she remembered and she reasoned Joffrey did likewise with his own little brother Tommen.

“I agree” Octavian concurred. “She’s too slow to ever connect” he stated.

“Too slow!” Arya exclaimed indignantly and practically jumped at him swinging her stick wildly at his head.

Although considerably taller than the girl, who was years younger than him and short for her age anyway, Octavian somehow ducked under the stick and rapped his own against her wrist resulting in her dropping it with a yipe of pain.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard but… OUCH” Octavian cried out himself as the little girl promptly kicked him in the shins in retaliation.

“ARYA!” Sansa exclaimed in horror.

“It’s alright I deserved that” Octavian responded, wincing at the pain and bending down to rub what he guessed was a bruise forming. “But letting me anger and disarm you that easily was the worst thing you did there anyway” he chided Arya. “You win with this” he said, straightening back up and pointing to his head, “as much as you do with this” he told the girl, tapping his stick on the the pommel of the sword at his side.

Arya glared at him them frowned realising she was more annoyed at herself for being so easily provoked into making a silly mistake than she was at Joffrey.

Meanwhile Octavian was suddenly aware that Arya’s pet direwolf was now on its feet bearing its teeth and growling at him. “Can you call that thing off please” he requested, trying not to sound as nervous as he now felt. Already the size of a full-grown adult wolf from his own world the direwolf would apparently continue to grow to near the size of a pony, making it a rather unsuitable choice for a pet Octavian considered, if not quite as moronic as when Mark Anthony wanted two lions so they could pull his chariot around Rome.

“No Nymeria” Arya told her pet, “Sit down” she ordered, the direwolf looking at her for a moment before obeying, much to Octavian’s relief.

Collecting himself Octavian threw his stick into the river. “You know they call my uncle the Kingslayer but from now on I think I’ll call you the Princelimper” he told Arya, bending down to rub his shin again.

“Ummm… sorry” Arya apologised awkwardly. “You did hit me first” she pointed out.

“True but here’s another truth” Octavian replied. ‘Next time we do this I’m wearing greaves” he told her.

When he heard the story later that evening King Robert guffawed with laughter and told his heir to watch out she didn’t kick him somewhere higher up next time, because both Ned and himself were hoping for grandchildren and having his future sister-in-law be the reason Joffrey ended up without an heir of his own would make for a “really fucking embarrassing couple of lines in _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  **Note from the author:**   
>    
>  _The road network in Westeros is awful, even the premier highway from North to South known as the[Kingsroad](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Kingsroad) would be seen as pitiful by someone from the Late Roman Republic, and spending weeks travelling from Winterfell to King's Landing (by way of the Crossroad's Inn) has made Octavian pine for the [Via Appia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appian_Way)._
> 
> _The_[Valerian Freehold](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Valyrian_Freehold) (being modelled on the Roman Empire after all) maintained a very good [road network](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Valyrian_roads) in [Essos](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Essos) and these roads are still in use there centuries after the [Doom of Valyria](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Doom_of_Valyria) shattered the Freehold both figuratively and literally.
> 
> _The[Direwolf](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Direwolf), sigil of [House Stark](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Stark), looks like a regular wolf scaled up. Octavian is right to be wary of them!_


	4. Part IV

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_“I thought the Unsullied the finest infantry in the world, trained to perfection and with an unmatched discipline in battle. Our soldiers had crushed the army of every city of Essos before them… but then we met Joffrey's Legions.”_

**Ser Jorah Mormont – 318 AL**

 

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** King’s Landing – 298 AL **

"No need for anyone here to stand on my account" Octavian told the Small Council as he entered, most of them having automatically started rise from their chairs when he unexpectedly entered the room.

Although as surprised at the arrival of the Prince as the others were Lord Varys was always calm, measured and collected and so it was he that spoke up first. "Good day Prince Joffrey" he greeted the visitor politely. "Are you looking for your father?" he queried, unable to think of why else he would be there.

"No, and as a matter of fact I just came from seeing him" Octavian replied. "I asked his permission to start sitting in on meetings of the Small Council so as to help me better understand the running of the Kingdom" he explained. "The King had no objection" he told them. "In fact he seemed pleased at having another excuse for not attending himself" Octavian continued. "It’s in my own best interest to make sure there will be a Kingdom to inherit after all" he noted with a smile. "Naturally as Hand of the King you still have full authority here in my father’s absence Lord Stark" he addressed the man himself directly, "and if you object to my being here I will leave immediately" he added deferentially.

"I have no objection" Eddard Stark replied, "but this is the first time I have attended the Small Council as Hand so by your leave I’ll look to the more experienced members for advice as to your presence" he said, looking to the others for comment.

"Previous heirs to the throne have been known to attend, although purely as observers and usually alongside the King" Grand Maester Pycelle informed the Hand "But there is certainly no prohibition on doing so without him" he told him.

"For my part, if my nephew wishes to learn something of statecraft I can only applaud" Renley Baratheon, Master of Laws chipped in, mentally adding to himself that it was a pity his brother Robert rarely got off his fat arse to do likewise.

Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin chuckled. "At least we don’t have to be concerned about the Prince passing on our secrets to elements hostile to the realm" he joked. "It would hardly be in his own best interests."

"Indeed" Varys concurred. "I believe I speak for the whole Council Lord Stark when I say we not only do not object to having Prince Joffrey here as an observer but we find the notion that he would wish to do so praiseworthy."

Stark nodded. "Well then, take a seat Prince Joffrey” he told the boy, indicating one of the several at the table currently stood empty. Not only was the king himself absent but his brother Stannis, who could have attended the Council as Master of Ships, was currently back home on Dragonstone Island while Ser Barristan Selmy, still considered tainted in the kings eyes by his prior service to the Targaryens also did not attend as a result, despite the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard traditionally doing so. 

"Thank you all" Joffrey replied, offering the whole Council a slight bow of respect before sitting down. Varys was so surprised by that gesture he almost lost his composure and barely stopped himself raising his eyebrows in shock. "If you’ll forgive me sounding stupid sometimes I might have to ask the occasional question in order to keep up" the young prince told the Council apologetically.

"Stupid people _don’t_ ask questions" Stark told the boy before leaning forward in his chair. "So then My Lords, shall we continue with what we were discussing before" he resumed the meeting. "Lord Balish, you were telling me of the Tournament that the King wishes to hold in celebration of my appointment as Hand and how much it was going to cost" he reminded the room.

Balish nodded. "Yes" he replied. "Some eighty thousand Gold Dragons in total prize money, forty for the winner of the joust, twenty for the runner up and twenty more for the champion with the bow" he said. "Unfortunately we do not at present have the required coin so my suggestion would be to borrow the sum from House Lannister."

"I know I’m new here but to place the Kingdom in debt for something as trivial as a tournament sounds daft to me" Stark commented. Spendthrift southern gits, he thought to himself disparagingly.

"A drop in the ocean compared to the three million we already owe House Lannister, a trifling increase I’d say" Baelish replied with a mild shrug.

"The kingdom is three million Dragons in debt!" Stark exclaimed in horror.

The Master of Coin shook his head. "No Lord Stark, the kingdom is _six_ million Dragon's in debt" he corrected him. "As well as the loans we have taken from Tywin Lannister we owe a similar amount to others, chiefly the Iron Bank of Braavos but also a not inconsiderable sum to Lord Mace of House Tyrell among others."

Octavian coughed. "I’m sorry, I know I’m only an observer here" he spoke up, "but I’m afraid I need to put that sum into perspective" he said. "How many days work would it take an ordinary man, I mean a small-folk labourer, to earn a Gold Dragon?" he asked.

"I’m sorry, I’ve got no idea how much a labourer earns" Baelish replied, laughing.

"About four months if he’s a hard worker with a fair master" Stark said coldly. As he would have expected rich Southerners like Baelish had no idea of the value of money. In reality no labourer would ever get his hands on a gold dragon honestly though, in day to day life the only currency the small-folk used was copper pennies, or occasionally silver coins for the most expensive purchases they would ever make in their lives.

Octavian frowned. "Then the prize money alone for this tournament would take thirteen thousand people two years to earn" he calculated in his head. "That’s ridiculous in itself even before considering that our entire debt represents two million man-years worth of labour" he continued. "How much of the debt was run-up in projects that will make a positive financial return long-term?" he queried.

"I’m sorry?" Renley responded, confused.

"Roads, aqueducts, bridges, ports, irrigation canals… things that cost a great deal to construct but increase tax-revenue to pay for themselves in the long-run" Octavian explained, starting to feel a little exasperated.

"Virtually none I’m afraid" Varys told him.

Octavian blinked as he converted everything in his head to more familiar terms. In Rome a denarius was roughly a day’s pay for an unskilled worker which put the value of a Gold Dragon at perhaps just over a hundred denarii. Multiplying this out put the debt at a jaw-dropping amount equivalent to six-hundred million denarii.

That was three times the supposed wealth of Marcus Licinius Crassus, by far the richest man in Rome’s history and of whom it was always said “Crassus, rich as Croesus”.

"Do you think after I inherit the realm someone might want to buy the Iron Throne as a souvenir or will I have to sell it as scrap metal in order to put bread on the table for Lord Stark’s daughter?" Octavian asked sardonically before dropping his head into his hands on the table. "Kingdom for sale, needs some restoration, one careless owner" he could be heard muttering into his hands.

Renley and Baelish were both trying hard not to laugh but Stark was even grimmer than normal. "I cannot believe Robert let the finances of the realm fall into such a state" he declared, glaring at Balish who as Master of Coin surely held much of the responsibility for the situation. "Surely Jon Arryn would have intervened?" he asked rhetorically, knowing the former Hand of the King to have been a capable, conscientious man.

"He tried many times to warn my brother but the King always dismissed the topic when we raised it as 'counting coppers' I’m afraid" Renley responded with a shrug.

"Even if it was only six million Copper Pennies instead of Gold Dragons it’d still be a fearsome amount" Ned Stark growled.

"Five hundred and ten" Octavian’s muffled voice responded.

"What?" Stark responded, confused.

Octavian raised his head from his hands. "With fifty-six Copper Pennies to the Silver Stag and two-hundred and ten Silver Stags to the Gold Dragon" he began, "then six million Copper Pennies would be worth roughly five-hundred and ten Gold Dragons" he said with a sigh, looking around the room. "Basic arithmetic" he said as they all looked at him nonplussed.

Stark raised his eyebrows. Apparently the boy’s mind was as sharp as Valyrian Steel he thought, deciding that he must take after his famously, or perhaps infamously intelligent grandfather Tywin on his mother’s side rather than his father’s side of the family. Robert Baratheon was no fool but he won the Iron Throne more by strength and determination than he did by quick wits. "I’m cancelling the tournament immediately" he said. "We cannot afford to fall even deeper into debt."

"I doubt the King would like that" Baelish warned. "Probably best to begin planning for it at least" he counselled, Renley nodding his agreement.

"I’ll talk to the King myself" Stark told the Council.

"May I accompany you Lord Stark?" Octavian requested. "I do have a stake in this and perhaps if he hears it from both his best friend and son-and-heir together he might be willing to listen" he added hopefully.

"If not I’ll open the bidding for the Iron Throne at ten Gold Dragons" Renley joked, disarming as ever. "Not for myself but it’s so foreboding to look at I’m sure my brother Stannis would love it as a present" he said. "The thing would suit Dragonstone Castle down to the ground."

Petyr Baelish gave Renley a quizzical look. "Can you even tell when Stannis is happy?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"It’s the eyes, he doesn’t narrow them at you disapprovingly as much" Renley explained, not entirely in jest.

The Master of Coin laughed but in his mind he was feeling slightly concerned. While the new Hand of the King was nothing to worry about, the Starks had quick tempers but slow wits in his opinion, Prince Joffrey had never indicated he had any particular wits at all, let alone the intellect he was starting to display now.

Baelish knew that Tytos Lannister, father of Tywin had frittered away his families wealth and made them almost a figure of fun to be mocked and disregarded but it hadn’t taken Tywin long to restore the strength and fortunes of the Lannisters once he inherited Casterly Rock. The last thing his planning and scheming needed was another bloody Lannister with brains and ability to come along just at the wrong moment Balish thought to himself, inwardly grimacing at the prospect. Why did the little blond son-of-a-bitch have to grow up and take on a few family traits now of all times, just when things were going so well?

Lord Varys continued to observe the boy with interest as he had done surreptitiously throughout the meeting. An intriguing and quite unexpected turn of events he pondered to himself, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on the Prince in future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note from the author:**
> 
> _The[Small Council](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Small_council/) is the body that basically runs the kingdom on behalf of the king (even more directly than normal if that king is Robert Baratheon who rarely bothered attending). The [Hand of the King](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Hand_of_the_King) acts as his deputy, the [Master of Coin](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Master_of_coin) keeps the realms finances, the [Master of Laws](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Master_of_laws) is responsible for law and order, the [Master of Whisperers](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Master_of_whisperers) is chief spymaster, the [Master of Ships](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Master_of_ships) controls the navy and the [Grand Maester](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Maesters#Grand_Maester) acts as an advisor. Normally the [Lord Commander of the Kingsguard](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lord_Commander_of_the_Kingsguard) would attend the Small Council too but not under King Robert._
> 
> _Given how much a single gold dragon is worth to an ordinary person in Westeros the staggering sum being offered as prize money at the tournament King Robert wanted to hold is practically nonsensical in itself, but for the kingdom to already be six million dragons in debt is going to astound and horrify anyone with any sense._


	5. Part V

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

* * *

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_“I found Westeros a land of timber and brick and left it made of concrete and marble”_

**Joffrey Augustus, Emperor of Westeros and Essos - 356 AL**

 

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** King’s Landing – 298 AL **

"Honestly are you reading again?" Cersei Lannister addressed her oldest boy, once more finding him in his quarters with his nose in a book. "What is it this time?" she asked. "Another boring list of some non-entities ancestors?"

Octavian fought back the urge to groan at the unwelcome interruption. "It’s a history of Essos concentrating on the Ghiscari Empire and their wars with the Valyrian Freehold" he told her. "From what I’ve read in here and other books the Ghiscari Legions were the finest heavy infantry ever fielded, thanks to their training and discipline."

"But they lost to the Valyrians didn’t they?" Cersei responded, thinking she remembered that right.

"Only because the Freehold had dragons as far as I can see" Octavian told her, hardly a fair fight he thought to himself. "Do you want something Mother?" he asked.

Cersei took a seat next to him. "I’ve been meaning to talk to you ever since we made that horrible journey to Winterfell" she said. "You’ve never been much of an enthusiast for reading before but now you hardly do anything else, and when you’re not reading you’re behaving in a manner that I’ve never seen from you before" the Queen continued. "Others have noticed too, many others, and they’re talking about it" she told him, "it has become a prime subject of gossip and debate throughout the Red Keep."

Octavian had been expecting this conversation for a while and naturally enough had planned for it. "So what are they saying about me?" he asked.

"Various things, not necessarily _bad_ things, but some of the things you’ve been doing are simply bizarre" Cersei observed. "Asking members of the City Watch their names and then greeting them as such the next time you see them" she began. "Sitting in on the Small Council" she went on, "and according to our cousin Lancel he found you having a conversation with one of the servants about their wages and the cost of bread!" she exclaimed.

"If I don’t know things I think are worth knowing I ask" Octavian replied. "I am not ashamed to confess that I am ignorant of what I do not know" he added, quoting Cicero although she wouldn’t know that of course.

"But why would you want to know something like that?" Cersei asked in exasperation.

"Because details are important Mother" Octavian patiently replied. "The truth is made up of a multitude of interconnected facts and to understand the whole you need a grasp on that which collectively makes up that whole."

Cersei looked at him askance. "I have no idea what you’re talking about" she said flatly.

"You’re probably missing some of the details then" Octavian wryly observed, earning a glare in response.

"Just tell me what’s going on with you" Cersei insisted, and since when did he bandy words about like Tyrion, she wondered?

Octavian closed his book. "Father happened" he replied.

Confused, Cersei pursed her lips. "Meaning what?" she asked.

"Meaning that during all that time we were travelling to Winterfell I got to see more of the King than I ever get to do here and a few things dawned on me" Octavian lied. "I say dawned on me, but it was a revelation more akin to a brick smacking me in the back of the head."

"What revelation?" Cersei wanted to know.

"That my father isn’t really a very good king and because he’s eating, drinking and whoring his way into an early grave I could end up inheriting the crown and having to start cleaning up his mess at almost any time" Octavian told her with a sigh. "One drunken fall down the stairs or trip over the battlements and I’m suddenly sitting on the Iron Throne with no better an idea what to do when I’m there than he does." 

One secret to a good lie is that it should be something the person you are telling it to wants to hear, it will be believed much more readily then. Octavian knew that Cersei fervently disliked her husband, perhaps even hated him, and hearing from her own son that he also considered the man an incompetent oaf would make her receptive to believing everything else he said.

"He’s very popular…" Cersei responded, a little uncertainly.

"He’s the life and soul of the feast, always laughing and joking, and he was a good fighter too so people like him" Octavian agreed, "but being a good ruler isn’t a popularity contest."

Cersei smiled. "Your grandfather Tywin would agree" she agreed in turn. "So you think reading all these books will help you rule Westeros when the time comes?"

"I hope so" Octavian replied. "If I hadn’t wasted so many years enjoying myself I wouldn’t have to work so hard at it now" he said sadly. "It’s easy to be lazy and self-indulgent when there isn’t any pressure on you to do something other than please yourself" he continued before frowning. "I suppose I actually did take after my father in a way there until now."

"Taking after your father, yes" Cersei concurred, nodding although Octavian noted there was an odd look in her eyes as she said it.

Octavian looked thoughtful. "Do you think people will think well of me now I’m trying to learn to be a good king or will they castigate me instead for being so indolent until now?" he asked.

"Who cares what anybody else thinks" Cersei dismissed his concern. "You are my darling boy and I’ll make anybody that ever says anything bad about you regret their mistake" she told him, fiercely protective as ever.

Leading others to believe Prince Joffrey had always been intelligent, but that this had been hidden by being bone-idle, spoiled and generally apathetic as a child seemed the best approach to Octavian. Furthermore if people reasoned that much of his new understanding of politics was simply down to recent book-learning all the better. 

Fortunately both Tywin and Tyrion Lannister were known for their own intellect so the Prince’s cleverness should simply be attributed to his lineage Octavian hoped. "You know I think the Ghiscari had the right idea as regards their army" he commented, opening his book again. "Not just the training and discipline I mean," he continued, "their rulers didn’t have to rely upon soldiers borrowed from the armies of various Noble Houses throughout their empire, they had a proper standing army as we should" he said. "An army trained and led by experienced soldiers instead of a mob of peasants who've never held pikes in their lives" he explained. "It took five wars before the Valyrians finally defeated Ghis forever, smashing their capital and sowing their fields with salt so they couldn't ever rise again" he said. "Do you imagine our small-folk levees being able to stand up that long against a foe supported by dragons, as the Lockstep Legions of Ghis did?" he asked rhetorically.

"And do you think the soldiers of your own new legions would be loyal to the crown or to where they come from?" Cersei asked him knowingly. "Would Northerners in this army be willing to fight against the Starks? Or boys from The Reach kill Tyrell bannermen?"

Octavian smiled. "They all come from Westeros" he said. "They just need to be persuaded to place their loyalty to the entire nation above their loyalty to some nobleman with the same accent as them sitting on his arse in some castle somewhere."

"Persuaded by force you mean" Cersei supposed. Joffrey was still apparently silly enough to think that would work she thought.

"No, persuaded by a vision of a better world for their children" Octavian replied. "Plus good pay and honest-to-goodness naked self-interest of course" he added confidently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Note from the author:**  
>  _  
>  _Octavian is well aware of the superiority of a well-trained, disciplined, full-time professional army over peasant levees, even a levee bolstered and led by the battle-hardened knights and nobles of Westeros. The late Republican Legions initially created by the[reforms](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marian_reforms) of [Gaius Marius](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaius_Marius), and later well employed by his nephew [Julius Caesar](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julius_Caesar) (Octavian's own uncle), were the best army of their era and Octavian is lucky to be able to point to the [Lockstep Legions](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lockstep_legions) of the [Ghiscari Empire](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Old_Empire_of_Ghis) when trying to make his case that Westeros needs a similar military._
> 
> _Needless to say Octavian is also well aware of the interesting parallel between the Valyrian/Ghiscari Wars and the[Roman/Carthaginian Wars](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Punic_Wars) of his own world (especially sowing the razed enemy capital with salt). ;)_  
>  _In the contemporary era the_[Unsullied](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Unsullied) fight in the old Ghiscari fashion and [New Ghis](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/New_Ghis) has its own Iron Legions following the example of their ancestors, so there are other more modern examples to point to as well (although I doubt you'll get many volunteers to go through the "training" and conditioning the Unsullied do!). 
> 
> _Joffrey wanted to create a professional military as well so this is a rare example where Octavian is on the same page as him._


	6. Part VI

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

 

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_"A Lannister always pays his debts… but I’m only half Lannister and you made the mistake of backing the wrong side, so perhaps you’d like to take the opportunity to return to my good graces and accept only half the debt you are owed by the crown as settlement?"_

**King Joffrey to Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank of Braavos – 301 AL**

 

_"If we’re quoting unofficial mottos at each other then I would remind you that ‘The Iron Bank will have its due’ King Joffrey, and if I wanted to be rude I might add that according to the rumours you’re twice as much Lannister by blood as the rest of your family so on that basis we should perhaps double the amount owed not half it. As a gesture of goodwill however the Iron Bank agrees to waive interest payments on the debt in the interests of cordial relations going forward… and the fact we’re not sure you could keep up with them anyway."_

**Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank of Braavos to King Joffrey – 301 AL**

 

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**Tournament Grounds - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Although never a great aficionado of the games back home Octavian had attended them enough to consider Westerosi jousting tournaments a very much watered-down-wine version of a martial spectacle. So far only one participant had even died, and that was only by misfortune when Gregor Clegane, the brother of his bodyguard Sandor, had accidentally killed the recently knighted Ser Hugh of the Vale during a joust.

Frankly it was all a bit boring, if he had to watch sports give me gladiators fighting condemned criminals or even a good chariot race, Octavian thought to himself, as he tried not to ponder with dismay just how much this effete competition was costing to run.

King Robert had outright refused to cancel the tournament despite the requests to do so not only from his son-and-heir but also the new Hand of the King whose appointment the event was intended to celebrate. A few more years of this level of financial mismanagement and even Lannister gold wouldn’t be able to keep the realm afloat, Octavian realised, wondering at what point the Iron Bank would foreclose and seek to auction off the Red Keep.

“Enjoying yourself Clegane?” Octavian asked his ever-present companion as they wandered around, stopping to watch a pair of swordsmen practice their art for that part of the tournament later.

"Bunch of posing wankers playing at war" the tall man with the burn-marked face responded flatly, still trying to get used to being called his actual name instead or ‘Hound’ or worse ‘Dog’. "In a real fight at least half of these poofs would piss themselves, drop their swords and run away" he said, sneering back at one of the practicing swordsmen who had turned to glare at him in response. "Talking of poofs Loras Tyrell should be jousting soon" he reminded the Prince.

"Against your brother" Octavian noted. "I suppose you want to be there to support your family?" he reasoned as he set out in the direction of the jousting arena.

Clegane's expression darkened. "I’ll be cheering on the poof" he muttered to himself as he followed on behind.

With popularity as a spectator sport beyond merely the aristocracy that participated in the games King’s Landing had seen an influx of people from all over Westeros eager to watch the tournament, and if it wasn’t for everyone with sense steering well clear of his massive bodyguard Octavian might have had to push his way through the crowds in order to each the seated area set aside for the nobility. Given that even the runner-up to the joust would some receive twenty thousand Gold Dragons in prize money, a sum that was perhaps an order of magnitude or two beyond even the dreams of most ordinary people, it wasn't really surprising that so many spectators had turned up to watch.

Indeed the throngs who had come to King's Landing had so increased the chaos in the city that at the last meeting of the Small Council the commander of the City Watch had requested extra funds to recruit the additional men needed to keep order in the streets and taverns. A city much the size of Rome, with a population near half a million, it was difficult enough to maintain control in King's Landing in normal times but currently it was a near Sisyphean task. 

The City Watch charged with this unenviable duty was fairly unique in that it recruited from all walks of life and tended to promote men based on merit and ability rather than background. More than a few illegitimate sons of minor houses unable to find employment had ended up within its ranks and the current Commander of the Watch was supposedly the son of a butcher Octavian had learned, thinking that perhaps Arya’s friend Mycah had a similar chance to make something of himself.

Already some two-thousand strong, and directly answerable to the King through the Master of Laws rather than belonging to one of the Great Houses, Octavian considered that the City Watch likely represented his best chance to quietly construct the core of a professional army. If he gradually increased their number, and only slowly shifted the emphasis of their duties and training from policing to a more directly military role, Octavian reasoned he could build up a fighting force man-for-man far superior to most Westerosi armies without incurring too much opposition or suspicion from the Lords Paramount, or further bankrupting the strained economy. Once that was accomplished men from the City Watch acting as drill-instructors and sergeants could be used to whip the peasant-levies of the rest of the Crownlands into some kind of shape.

It would require the right kind of men though. Roman Centurions, the backbone of the legions, weren't just required to be good fighters hardened by battle experience, they simply couldn't get promoted to that rank if they weren't also literate men with something between their ears. Lucius Vorenus for example, former First Spear Centurion of the 13th Legion, had been more knowledgeable of Roman politics and history than Octavian had ever expected from a man of plebian background and it was likely his brains as much as his superior fighting ability that made the man so formidable. Octavian's uncle, Julius Caesar, had made sure to know not only the name of every centurion under his command but also a few personal details about each one realising that it was those men that made Rome strong not the knightly equestrian classes.

Perhaps if I offered premium pay to any sellsword joining the City Watch if they were literate men I might obtain the caliber of men I'm after, Octavian pondered as he neared the seating area for nobles.

While the joust itself wasn’t too interesting when they got there, although the 'Knight of the Flowers' inventively cheating by riding a mare in heat to put his opponents stallion off form was a creative ploy, the subsequent beheading of said stallion by the incensed loser Gregor Clegane followed by what could have potentially been a fight-to-the death between 'The Mountain' and his brother made Octavian feel almost at home. Animals being hacked to pieces and mortal combat between skilled warriors in front of a crowd, now that was proper entertainment he thought, although his intended bride-to-be appeared horrified.

After King Robert's command abruptly ended the fight and Gregor Clegane had stormed off in a rage Octavian first checked that his bodyguard was uninjured then approached the King to loudly remark that it seemed the wrong brother was a knight because the one without a title acted more like a knight should, having drawn his sword to defend the helpless Loras Tyrell and then having stopped fighting immediately when his King commanded.

Already embarrassed at having Loras thank him for saving his life, and the cheers and applause which followed. Sandor Clegane was practically mortified by Prince Joffrey's commendation, although to his great relief the boy didn't go so far as to suggest King Robert knight him then and there.

Not enjoying the attention whatsoever, even if it was people singing his praises not staring at his scars or trying to pick a fight for once, Sandor Clegane was almost starting to almost wish that he had let his psychotic sibling kill Tyrell by this point and it only got worse when Lord Stark's pretty young daughter handed him the rose that the ever-charming Tyrell had given her before the joust.

"That’s a new look for you" Octavian told him, extremely amused at how uncomfortable Clegane now looked, the man still awkwardly clutching the flower after Sansa had departed.

You still look the same, Sandor Clegane thought to himself looking at his charge, but everything else about you is different.

Which wasn't to say it wasn't a big improvement. Joffrey had always been a right prick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Note from the author:_  
>  **
> 
> _What qualified as family entertainment in the Late Roman Republic was a tad bloodier than the mock combat of a medieval tournament. To Octavian's eyes it's all going to seem rather bland._
> 
> _[King's Landing](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/King%27s_Landing) and Rome from Octavian's day are about the same size (very large for a pre-industrial city) and both are prone to riots and disorder. The [City Watch](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/City_Watch_of_King's_Landing) tries to keep a lid on things but doesn't always manage._
> 
> _[Loras Tyrell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Loras_Tyrell) was taking a hell of a risk when he cheated a bit to beat [Gregor Clegane](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Gregor_Clegane) in a joust, crossing The Mountain is hazardous to your health. [Sandor Clegane](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Sandor_Clegane) isn't exactly on good terms with his brother Gregor._


	7. Part VII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"All Westeros is divided into seven parts, but I united them with roads, bridges, canals and in the hearts of men"_

**Joffrey Augustus – 356 AL**

 

\----------

 

**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL**

Ever since he had been appointed to the Small Council as Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish had made sure to always be the first to arrive for meetings and also be the last to leave. His industriousness had been noted by several other council members over the years, most recently by Lord Varys only minutes earlier during a typically barbed conversation between them in the throne room, but when he, Varys and Lord Renly had reached the council chamber they found Prince Joffrey already there scanning through some paperwork. "Ah, Lord Baelish" the boy greeted him, "if you have a few moments after the meeting can we discuss the accounting ledgers?" he requested. "I think you might need to dismiss some of your clerks."

"Have you uncovered some irregularities?" Varys asked sweetly, trying not to smirk at the look of discomfort which had momentarily flashed across Littlefinger’s face.

"I’d prefer to give those concerned the benefit of the doubt and assume the errors I’ve found are down to incompetence rather than corruption, but yes" the heir to the throne confirmed.

Baelish somehow managed not to grimace. Allowing the whelp access to the records had seemed safe enough, they were deliberately made so convoluted as to deter anyone from ever trying to decipher them, but once again the rumours were being confirmed that the prince had been hiding a great intellect under a veil of apathy, shiftlessness and a life spent sadistically pulling the wings off flies for a lack of anything better to do. "If you show me what you think you’ve found I’ll look into it personally" he promised, wondering which of his staff would be best to throw to the wolves, if only for the crime of doing what he told them.

Thinking of wolves Lord Stark arrived next, just ahead of Grand Maester Pycelle who himself barely made it into the chamber before the King.

"Bloody hell, are you still coming to these?" King Robert asked his son, surprised at finding him there. "When I said you could attend these blasted meetings I expected you to turn up once or twice then go back to playing with crossbows."

"Prince Joffrey has not failed to attend a single Small Council meeting since you granted him permission to do so Your Grace" Varys informed the King. "He has proven both attentive and astute" the Master of Whisperers added in commendation. 

"You’re wasting your bloody youth" King Robert told the boy flatly, "nobody ever said ‘I wished I’d spent more time in meetings’ on their death-bed" he advised his son.

"No, but I’ll bet a few kings would have lived longer if they did" Lord Stark observed. Northern bluntness at its best.

King Robert snorted. "I pay you to handle the small stuff for me" he reminded the Hand, "but I’m still king enough to deal with the important matter like today's" he continued. "The whore is pregnant" he stated coldly.

"Whore?" Octavian asked, looking to the king quizzically.

"Daenerys Targaryen" Robert Baratheon explained. "Now we’ve got to deal with her" he growled.

Ned Stark already knew where this was going. Robert had talked of assassinating the girl previously when he visited Winterfell and that was before she was carrying the offspring of the most powerful Khal of the Dothraki. "You’re speaking of murdering a child" he pointed out, dismayed by the notion.

"I warned you this would happen, back in the North" Robert reminded him. "I warned you but you didn’t care to hear, well hear it now" he said. "I want them dead" he continued darkly, "mother and child both and that fool Viserys as well, is that plain enough for you?" he asked rhetorically. "I want them both dead" he ordered.

Stark kept his voice even. "You’ll dishonour yourself forever if you do this" he cautioned.

"Honour?" Robert exclaimed, voice rising in volume. "I’ve got seven kingdoms to rule!" he declared. "One King, Seven Kingdoms. Do you think honour keeps them in line?" he asked. "Do you think its honour that’s keeping the peace?" he continued. "It’s fear" he stated. "Fear and blood." 

"Then we’re no better than the mad king" Stark replied, trying to get his friend to see sense.

Robert glared at him. "Careful Ned" he warned, "Careful now."

"You want to assassinate a girl because The Spider heard a rumour?" Stark queried with a doubtful tone, maintaining his calm despite Roberts building rage and nodding towards Varys.

"No rumour My Lord" Varys defended himself and his sources. "The princess is with child" he insisted.

"Based on whose information" Stark wanted to know.

"Ser Jorah Mormont" Varys told him. "He is serving as advisor to the Targaryens."

"Mormont!" Stark replied dismissively. "You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?" he asked, smirking slightly.

"Jorah Mormont’s a slaver not a traitor" Baelish pointed out. "Small difference I know to an honourable man" making what what was on the surface a complement to Stark's character somehow seem like a rebuke instead.

"He broke the law, betrayed his family, fled our land" Stark responded. "We commit murder on the word of this man?" he asked dismissively.

"And if he’s right?" King Robert asked. "If she has a son?" he continued. "A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki Army. What then?"

Stark dismissed the threat. "The Narrow Sea still runs between us" he reminded the Small Council. "I’ll fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water."

Octavian frowned. "Forgive me Lord Stark but the Narrow Sea is by definition ‘narrow’ is it not?" he asked rhetorically. "Moreover its Eastern shore is lined with towns and cities that hold great fleets of ships" he noted before adopting a thoughtful look. "In the time of myth and legend the Children of the Forest broke the Arm of Dorne to try and keep your own ancestors, the First Men, out of Westeros but they came nonetheless by ship and seized the land for themselves didn't they?" he began, Stark reluctantly having to nod in agreement. "Later the Andals arrived from Essos too, eventually wresting control of everything south of the neck from the First Men" Octavian continued, glad he had made himself so familiar with local history. "More recently still the Rhoyar people fleeing the Valyrian Freehold arrived on this continent and conquered Dorne" he carried on, “Sixty years ago Daemon III Blackfyre led an army across the Narrow Sea to invade Westeros during the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion and more recently still, a mere generation ago during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, the fear of yet _another_ invasion from Essos resulted in a Westerosi army being sent to the Stepstone Islands to secure them and curtail the threat” he pointed out. "Surely on the basis of all these precedents we are right to fear a possibility you so easily dismiss?" he suggested.

"See, even my son barely old enough to shave grasps the danger better than you" Robert interjected, surprised that the boy had put it so well too. "My own grandfather fell in battle on the Stepstones, died in my father's arms, I'll not allow another invasion across the Narrow Sea when my family gave their blood to stop the last one" he vowed.

"Even if they came we’d smash them" Stark responded, less certain in his tone than earlier however.

"We can field only a fraction of their mounted strength, and a hundred thousand light cavalry bowmen would run rings around our infantry" Octavian told him, personally recalling what the Parthians had done at the Battle of Charrhae to the Legions under Crassus. Those poor Legionaries shot down by arrows had been far more disciplined and better trained than the peasant levies of Westeros too, the latter would break and run much more easily.

Ned Stark frowned. "They don’t even have siege engines, what could they do against our walls?"

"Nothing, but they can ride around pillaging the countryside and burning crops until the people inside those walls go hungry and start to think putting a fucking Targaryen back on the throne sounds like a good idea if it’ll fill their bellies" King Robert replied sarcastically.

"They wouldn’t even have to cause as much damage as they potentially could in order to bring down the Kingdoms" Octavian noted. "Food is going to be scarce and harvests small anyway for the next few years Lord Stark" he pointed out. "Winter is Coming" he added meaningfully.

Octavian leaned forward in his chair, fingers meshed on the table in front of him. "All we really know of the Dothraki is what we hear from the City-States of Essos" he said. The ferocity and military prowess of the barbarian horsemen might therefore be greatly exaggerated, but it's a fact that those City-States have walls around them as good as anything we do, if not better, and they _still_ choose to buy the Dothraki off with tribute rather than fight them for the most part" he pointed out. "Another thing we know for certain is that Viserys is actually there _with_ the Dothraki, he's _seen_ the army of Khal Drogo up close and chose to cement an alliance with him by marrying his sister to the man" he said. "If a man looking for an army to conquer Westeros with marries his own flesh-and-blood to a man that has an army, you've got to assume he thinks it's the right army for the job after seeing them."

Stark was yet unconvinced. "Viserys is a fool" he responded. "You said so yourself only minutes ago" he reminded the king.

"He might not be Aegon the Conqueror reborn, hair colour or no, but the stupid fucker can probably still _count_ " Robert replied with a snort.

Maester Pycelle nodded. "I bear this girl no ill-will" he said, "but should the Dothraki invade how many innocents would die?" he asked. "How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even that she should die now so that tens of thousands might live?" he asked.

"Hundreds of thousands at least would be a more accurate estimate given how low our food reserves are in winter anyway" Octavian corrected him, "even _without_ a horde of unwashed barbarians laying waste to the countryside" he added, not that personal hygiene in Westeros was much to boast about either as far as he was concerned. They didn’t bathe nearly enough here, even the nobility.

Varys decided to take a more conciliatory approach. "I understand your misgivings My Lord, truly I do" he addressed The Hand. "It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing, yet we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm."

"For the good of the _people_ " Octavian said earnestly. So earnestly that Varys wondered in shock if the boy actually might mean it. 

Stark looked the King in the eyes. "I’ve followed you into war, twice" he stated, "without doubts, without second thoughts, but this path you’re on now is too hard to follow" he told him. 

"You’re my Hand" Robert replied. "You do my bidding or I’ll find another Hand that will" he told his oldest friend firmly.

"Then good luck to him" Stark replied, unmoved.

Octavian coughed, he didn’t like where this was going. As a man who wasn’t incompetent, self-serving and corrupt Eddard Stark was too rare a thing in this city to be lost so easily. "Before you make a final decision Lord Stark please ask yourself this question" he requested, "if you had to choose between your honour and the lives of your children which would you choose?"

The Warden of the North turned away from Robert and glowered at the boy. "Are you threatening my children?" he snarled.

Octavian blinked. "No of course not" he responded quickly. "It was a hypothetical question" he explained. "What I was going to say was that if you were prepared to sacrifice your honour for the sake of your children would it be truly honourable to be prepared to let the children of another man die for it?" he asked. "Countless children of countless men in this case."

"No" Stark replied, "I mean yes…" he subsequently said before closing his mouth and really thinking about it.

"Bloody hell boy, I think you’ve got him!" King Robert exclaimed, clapping Octavian on the back hard enough for it to hurt.

Octavian ignored the blow although he detested being touched like that even in good humour. "No, he got himself" he disagreed with the king. "I just helped him work it through faster" he continued then sighed. "Lord Stark, a man of honour has to wrestle with his conscience on occasion, whether he wins or loses the bout matters less than the fact he has to fight in the first place" he continued. "The mere existence of the fight within him is proof of a good man, a man that remains at heart a good man even when forced to do a bad thing for a greater good." 

"Once you start to compromise your honour you’re lost" Stark countered, although the damn boy had certainly made him think.

"Only this joust" Octavian replied, "the next time your honour tilts your lance at a problem that can be expediently solved by an unpleasant deed who knows what champion will out?" he asked rhetorically before turning to the king. "Father, in the light of your long years of friendship with Lord Stark can I ask you grant him some time to weigh his conscience against the possible outcome of us not doing this deed in his mind?" he requested sincerely.

Robert Baratheon thought about it. "Fine, but you’ve only got until tomorrow" he told his old friend. It wasn’t like he had anyone else he trusted to wear the Hand’s brooch of office in any case, he just wanted Ned to see the big picture on this particular problem.

"If it helps, imagine what misdeeds your replacement might be willing to countenance" Octavian suggested to Ned Stark. "There’s no telling what us devious, unscrupulous southerners might get up to unrestricted by ethics without you here to keep us in line" he joked.

Stark rubbed his neck. "That’s the first bloody thing you’ve said I agree with completely" he replied, not expecting to get any sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Octavian will know of the[Battle of Charrae](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Carrhae) and perhaps overrate the power of a horse-archer army as a result. Westeros had been successfully invaded from Essos by sea several times though, first by the [First Men](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/First_Men), then the [Andals](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Andals) then the [Rhoynar](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rhoynar) so using the [Narrow Sea](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Narrow_sea) as an argument that Westeros had nothing to fear isn't as strong as Stark might like to think. Indeed more recently in living memory another invasion took place during the [Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Fourth_Blackfyre_Rebellion) and subsequent fear of yet another one occuring led to Westeros intervening during the [War of the Ninepenny Kings](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/War_of_the_Ninepenny_Kings)._
> 
> _Eddard Stark did sacrifice his honour to save his children and he knows he loves them enough to do so. He's not enough of a hypocrite for an argument using that as an approach not to at least make him think._


	8. Part VIII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"Varys was oft heard to say, with a mix of smugness and respect for a worthy foe, that Littlefinger was the second most devious man in the Seven Kingdoms. It turned out that both Baelish and Varys himself ranked one place lower on the list than he thought."_

**Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King - 305 AL**

 

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**Kings Landing – 298 AL **

Petyr Baelish never saw things more clearly than when he was at a brothel, which was fortunate because he owned several, including the most opulent ones that catered for the wealthiest and select of clientele. At present he was lounging in his chamber at one of the finest of his houses and pondering the current situation.

In terms of land his holdings were small, his House being minor and owing its fealty to House Arryn of the Vale, so it was to his credit and testimony to his hard work and intelligence that he had risen to become one of the most powerful men in the land. Unfortunately mere talent and ability could only get you so far within the feudal system and true power would never be his unless he changed the rules of the game. If an outright lunatic like Aerys Targaryen or a downright moron like Robert Baratheon could sit on the Iron Throne then the rules were surely made to be broken anyway surely?

Sipping fine Dornish wine from a silver cup Baelish idly watched one of his courtesans practice her dancing, her wispy outfit of silk imported all the way from Qarth leaving very little to the imagination. "More hip movement, less sticking your arse out" he instructed her before taking another sip of wine.

The letter he had bade Lysa Arryn write her sister Catelyn accusing the Lannisters of murdering her husband had led Ned Stark to investigate the claim, albeit with his usual lack of subtlety and discretion so both Baelish himself and Varys had little trouble in keeping an eye on how Stark was progressing in his quest. Unfortunately while the bloody fool had followed the trail of breadcrumbs left for him, obtaining the book Jon Arryn had been reading before his 'unfortunate' demise, visiting the known bastard offspring of King Robert and likely being told point-blank by Varys that Arryn had probably been murdered by an assassin using the expensive and traceless poison Tears of Lys, Stark had still not joined the dots.

While to others chaos was a pit that none should wish the kingdoms to fall into, to Baelish it meant opportunity. It was a ladder he could climb, first perhaps to the Eyrie and marriage to Lysa and then to the even greater heights, metaphorically at least, of the Iron Throne. The last thing he needed was stability, or even just the current semblance of it, so it might be necessary to nudge things along a little more, perhaps by filling in a little more of the picture for the hapless Eddard Stark.

"I did tell him not to trust me" Baelish remarked quietly to himself with amusement as the girl finished her dance. "Much better Bethany" he told her, "now show me how flexible you are" he instructed. "The contortions girl!" he explained, rolling his eyes at her blank expression.

"Oh yes. Let’s see those" the voice of another man interjected in a rather enthusiastic tone. "They let me straight in at the door, hope you don’t mind the intrusion?" it added.

Baelish put on a welcoming smile. "Of course not, the Queen’s younger brother is always welcome at any of my humble places of business" he replied as the dwarf Tyrion entered the room.

"Not quite so humble Lord Baelish" Tyrion replied wryly, noting the quality of the furniture and decoration as he looked around. "And as the man that has probably put more coin in your pocket than any other over the last few years I expect the welcome is as much to do with that as it is my family name."

"It is true that your contribution to the nest-egg I’m putting aside for my eventual retirement back to the Fingers has been quite considerable" Baelish confirmed. "If you live to be your father’s age, and your enthusiasm for female company doesn’t wane over the years, I should have enough money to replace the old tower there as family seat with a castle the size of the Red Keep" he joked.

"Somehow I can’t see you ever retiring from the position of Master of Coin" Tyrion replied, slumping into a nearby seat and helping himself to some wine. For one thing he suspected Baelish was making more money through that potentially lucrative position than he was from his legal, though some might say equally immoral, business interests. 

"We all see one too many winters in the end not to yearn for an easier life" Baelish replied. "I assume you’re just now returned from the North?" he asked, knowing full well he was thanks to his network of informers correctly predicting the dwarfs arrival back in the city.

Tyrion nodded. "If I ever express a desire to travel any further up the King’s Road than The Neck again do me a favour and suggest a nice vacation to the Summer Isles instead" he responded. "I can still feel the cold that seeped into my bones up there" he complained. "No wonder northerners are all so bloody grim" he added before raising his cup to his lips.

"I hear you went to see the wall?" Baelish asked, again knowing for certain he had. 

"Yes and a very impressive sight it is too" Tyrion confirmed, "Although I doubt the people stuck on the other side of the thing appreciate it as much" he said. "Anyway, down to business" he continued, putting down his now drained cup of wine. "Since I desperately need warming up, travelling back here with a member of the Night’s Watch put a slight cramp on my usual travel itinerary, and because I can’t face the Red Keep yet I thought I’d put some more coin in your pocket first" he told Baelish brightly.

"A cramp on your usual travel itinerary?" Baelish queried, Tyrion looking for a girl or two was itself hardly unexpected of course.

"I just couldn’t bring myself to torture a man sworn to celibacy by stopping off at every brothel on the way" Tyrion explained. Yoren had been good company on the trip, the man had a decent, if coarse and unsophisticated, sense of humour, but with the Night’s Watch recruiter off to complete his own mission, scouring the dungeons of King’s Landing for 'motivated volunteers' Tyrion was now free to undertake his own vital mission and indulge the pleasures of the flesh.

Baelish chuckled. "Been a while by your standards I take it?" he surmised.

"Another day and my virginity would have come back" Tyrion joked. "Any recommendations?" he asked. "The contortionist here perhaps?" he suggested, indicating the girl who was still waiting there for instructions.

"Bethany, go prepare a room for Lord Tyrion" Baelish ordered, "and you’d better fetch Fern too" he added. "They’re both very sweet girls" he told the dwarf.

Tyrion laughed. "I’ll make sure to confirm the taste myself" he replied as the girl dashed off. "So has anything interesting been happening here while I’ve been away?" he asked.

"Interesting?" Baelish repeated, looking thoughtful. "Well people are still talking about the Tournament that was held to celebrate the appointment of the new Hand-of-the King" he said. "I lost a hundred Gold Dragons to Lord Renly by betting on The Mountain against Loras Tyrell but Clegane’s horse lost rather more" he continued, "extremely sore-loser The Mountain, he chopped its head off."

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "The man always was a maniac" he replied. “I’m only surprised he didn’t chop off Tyrell’s head.”

"Oh he tried" Baelish responded, "The Hound had to draw his sword to save The Knight of Flowers from his deranged brother, if it wasn’t for the King ordering them to stop I expect the world would be short one Clegane, not that either of them are exactly short" he said.

Tyrion smiled. "I imagine standing next to The Mountain is the only time the rest of you get the opportunity to see things from my perspective" he suggested. "Looking a man squarely eye-to-navel rather than eye-to eye" he continued. "Well there never was much love lost between those two" he observed, "makes my relations with my own siblings look positively warm and friendly” Tyrion joked, causing Baelish to chuckle as the hatred between Cersei and her youngest brother was well known. "Anything else of note happening?" Tyrion inquired. "How is Ned Stark handling his new duties?" he asked.

The Master of coin sighed. "I’m afraid to say that the man is not happy in his work, although he is still wearing the brooch of office thus far" he replied. "It’s not for me to say why but I’m sure you’ll find out yourself in due course."

Intriguing, Tyrion thought to himself, I must investigate. "No more gossip?" he checked. 

"I suppose the other news of interest news is that your nephew has been attending the Small Council" Baelish told him. "A very astute young man, I can’t say I’ve noticed that in him before."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "The Small Council you say?"

"Yes, not that we’re still seeing King Robert there very much" Baelish replied. "Prince Joffrey appears to have a very clever head on his shoulders, always asking intelligent questions when he’s not making equally intelligent observations."

Thank the Gods, I might have finally got through to him, Tyrion thought to himself happily. "Well, what else can you expect from a boy with Lannister blood running through his veins?" he asked rhetorically. "Ignoring the occasional vacant-eyed idiot like my cousin Lancel of course."

"What else indeed?" Baelish responded, smiling. So much Lannister blood in one boy, what would the King’s Hand do when he found out just how much, and what would the Queen do in response? he wondered, his smile starting to resemble a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Note from the author:_ **
> 
> _Without the assassination attempt on[Bran](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Bran_Stark) taking place (that was Joffrey's doing so with Octavian driving it didn't happen) [Tyrion](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tyrion_Lannister), along with travelling companion [Yoren](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Yoren), have returned to King's Landing from the [Wall](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Wall) without incident._
> 
> _In other butterflies, without the attempt on her son's life taking place[Catelyn Stark](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Catelyn_Stark) has not traveled to King's landing in secret. Instead of hating Tyrion she actually thinks rather positively of him because he gave her a design for a saddle that meant Bran could still ride a horse despite being paralyzed from the waist down._
> 
> _With Tyrion not a prisoner of Catelyn there is no move by the Lannisters against the Starks and their allies.[Beric Dondarrion](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Beric_Dondarrion) isn't sent to stop the now non-existent Lannister marauders in the Riverlands led by Gregor Clegane and the Red Priest [Thoros of Myr](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Thoros) is still in King's Landing too (he was a favoured drinking companion of King Robert as well as Dondarrion's friend incidentally). _


	9. Part IX

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"I came, I saw, I reorganised."_

**Joffrey Augustus, Emperor of Westeros and Essos - 356 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

All the looming towers of the Red Keep admittedly made for an impressive structure that dominated the skyline of King’s Landing, Octavian thought to himself, but scaling all the damn steps when you needed to travel from one tower to another was all too much like hard work he concluded when finally reaching his destination in the Tower of the Hand. "I don’t know how you can possibly wear that armour all the time Clegane" he remarked to his bodyguard. "All that extra weight to haul around, to say nothing of how hot it must get."

"If you wear it all the time you get used to it and it stops slowing you down" Sandor Clegane replied flatly. It was a pain in the arse when you had to haul yourself up all these stairs though he had to admit. "What are _you_ looking at?" he growled at the guard in Stark livery on the door to the Hand’s quarters who now blocked their way.

"Don’t mind Clegane, he’s just ill-tempered by default" Octavian apologised for his companion’s manners. "Varly isn’t it?" he checked, thinking he remembered the man’s name correctly.

"Yes My Lord" the Stark guardsman confirmed, surprised at the Prince remembering his name, although he had met him previously when Joffrey visited the tower. "Are you here to call on Lord Stark?" he queried. "Or Lady Sansa perhaps?"

"What business is it of yours?" The Hound growled again.

Octavian sighed, he suspected that if Titus Pullo was here right now he’d suggest Sandor Clegane either needed a few drinks or a woman to lighten his mood. "Gods, Clegane!" he exclaimed. "The man is just asking what you would if your situations were reversed" he pointed out. "I’m here to call on Lady Sansa, I told her I might" he informed the guard. "Although if Lord Stark is in his quarters and can spare a few moments I might have a word with him too" he added.

"I’ll let them both know you’re here if you’d care to wait just inside to be collected" Varly replied, bowing to the Heir to the Throne before opening the door for them.

While Varly went to inform the household of their presence Octavian rubbed his eyes. "I’ve got to stop staying up past midnight reading" he observed, yawning.

"At least you don’t have a hangover" Clegane muttered, helping to explain why he was even more surly than normal. Over the past couple of months at the behest of the Prince he had started to talk more, expressing his thoughts if not his feelings, but he was still uncomfortable about it sometimes, particularly because Joffrey seemed to genuinely listen if not necessarily agree to often.

The Red Keep had been ordered constructed by Aegon the Conqueror, first of the Targaryen Kings, who had come to Westeros three centuries before with the intention of building an empire and had the dragons to make it happen. Such was the scale of the project that it wasn't finished until decades later during the reign of the third Targaryen king, the aptly named Maegor the Cruel who had all the workers killed after they finished the castle so they couldn't tell anyone where all the secret passages were.

Rome had certainly never built a fortification of such scale, Octavian knew, nor the Greeks, Carthaginians or Egyptians, but if Herodotus was to be believed Babylon had walls over three hundred feet high and eighty feet thick that stretched for over fifty miles around the city so the Westerosi weren't alone in favouring excessively formidable defences. The Red Keep was intended by the Targaryens to as much intimidate the conquered peoples of the Seven Kingdoms as it was to keep enemies out, hence walls that were much higher than they needed to be to forestall the use of scaling ladders or siege towers.

Still, at least the walls of the Red Keep weren't as pointlessly high as The Wall in the far north of Westeros. At a reputed seven-hundred feet in height bowmen at the top wouldn't even be able to aim properly at anyone assaulting the thing below, they would have to loose arrows in their general direction and hope for the best.

"My Lord Joffrey!" Sansa said brightly, sweeping up the corridor towards them. She was very pretty, Octavian had to admit, although if she got any taller he feared he was going to have to start wearing shoe lifts for fear of looking Tyrion’s height by comparison when they walked out together. "I feared you weren’t going to come" she told him.

"Sorry it’s later in the morning than I suggested, I overslept a little" Octavian explained apologetically. "I’ve brought you something" he continued, reaching into his pocket and producing a silk purse. "I hope you like it" he said, opening the purse and producing a pendant from it that hung from a thin gold chain. "It’s like the one my mother wears" he explained, holding it up to show her the Lannister Sigil engraved upon it, "with one alteration" he continued, turning it over so that she could see the Stark Sigil engraved on the reverse side.

"It’s wonderful!" Sansa exclaimed. "Would you put it on me?" she requested, lifting her long hair out of the way.

Octavian passed the silk purse to The Hound who stuffed it unceremoniously in one of his own pockets while the Prince hung the pendant around the girl’s neck. "The Houses of your father and my mother" he noted, letting it fall between what cleavage she was showing. "If you really like it I’ll have another made with the Baratheon and Tully Sigils upon it for my father and your mother."

"That would be lovely" Sansa replied, smiling before kissing him on the cheek an act that made Octavian blush despite himself and wonder if he was supposed to do something in response.

"Oh Gods, why do I suddenly feel so nauseous?" a familiar, all too often sarcastic voice interrupted them.

"Go away Arya" Sansa told her sister sharply. "Isn’t there something stupid you need to do because some Braavosi told you to?" she asked sardonically, turning to glare at her little sister.

"I already spent an hour practicing my balance" Arya responded.

"Then go catch another cat" Sansa instructed, the little brat was ruining the moment.

Arya shook her head. "The last one scratched me to pieces" she replied. "Some are meaner than others" she added ruefully.

"Catch a cat?" Octavian queried, confused.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Her Dancing Master had her chasing cats, said she could learn a lot from the way they moved" she explained. 

"So she’s still taking sword-fighting lessons?" Octavian surmised, Sansa had mentioned before that their father had hired some expert instructor that hailed from across the Narrow Sea. Unlike the slash-and-parry technique favoured by armoured knights in Westeros the swordsmen of Bravos, one of the Free Cities in Essos, preferred a faster more fluid style that had come to be known as the 'Bravosi Water Dance' and which was likely a much better fighting discipline to learn for a young girl. "You’re not planning on revenge for me hitting you with that stick are you?" he asked Arya suspiciously.

"Do I look like the vengeful type?" Arya asked sweetly although the look in her eyes was disconcerting in the extreme.

Octavian frowned. "Keep a very close eye on that one Clegane" he instructed his bodyguard.

Sandor Clegane looked the small girl up and down. "I think I’d better" he agreed.

"I’ll go take Nymeria for a walk outside the walls" Arya decided. The woods that surrounded King’s Landing were a good spot to exercise her pet which suffered from being indoors too much.

"Good idea" Sansa agreed, it would get her sister out of her hair for several hours given how long a decent walk for a direwolf would take. "Take Lady with you as well" she requested. "Just don’t let them off the leash inside the city and bring a guard with you."

Arya narrowed her eyes at her older sister. "I’m not stupid you know" she replied. Although largely tame they were still dangerous animals and who knew how they would react among all those people.

"Oh I nearly forgot to say" Octavian said suddenly. "My sister Myrcella said to ask if you both wanted to attend a party she’s having next week."

"If it’s going to be as boring as the last one then I’d sooner stay here and stare at the walls" Arya responded sarcastically. "All she wanted to talk about was clothes and dolls-houses."

"Both Sansa and Arya will be _delighted_ to attend" the stern voice of Eddard Stark interrupted the conversation. "No arguments" he added firmly before his youngest daughter could voice an inevitable objection.

"Good day to you Lord Stark" Octavian greeted the Hand of the King. "I was going to ask your permission to take Lady Sansa for a walk in the gardens."

Ned Stark nodded his agreement. If they were to be wed it was for the best they get to know each other first. "I’ll have Septa Mordane accompany you as a chaperone."

"I don’t need a chaperone in the palace gardens father" Sansa protested. "I’m perfectly safe with Prince Joffrey."

Stark chuckled. "Having been a teenage boy once myself I find that hard to believe wholeheartedly" he replied. "No offence intended Your Grace" he added to the Heir to the Throne.

"None taken" Octavian replied, smiling. "I can only imagine how my father will react in a few years the first time a boy requests to walk-out with my sister."

"Knowing Robert he’ll follow them both around with an expression on his face that would frighten a manticore to death and he’ll be carrying a warhammer" Ned Stark suggested humourously. "In any case Varly told me you wanted to have a word, was it only to ask my permission to accompany Sansa to the gardens?" he queried.

Octavian shook his head. "No Lord Stark, I just wanted to let you know that upon re-checking the books and ledgers with Lord Baelish, and then subsequently visiting the royal treasury in person to see first-hand, we determined that the errors I found before were almost certainly mere incompetence on the part of some of his staff rather than acts of theft."

"How are you so sure?" Ned Stark asked, frowning.

"Because we found the money in the treasury" Octavian told him. "The funds were only missing from the paperwork not the coffers" he said. "The Master-of-Coin keeps a quantity of gold and silver to meet day-to-day expenses such as wages or maintenance of the fleet and it was much larger than the records suggested it was."

The King’s Hand looked surprised. "How much larger" he asked.

"Tens of thousands of Gold Dragons at least, Lord Baelish is conducting a proper count now" Octavian replied. "We need not have borrowed any for the Tournament after all" he noted. "In any case the result of our inquiry is merely a few men being thrown out of their jobs rather than thrown in a cell awaiting the King’s Justice" he said. "I thought it best to let you know today before the Small Council meets tomorrow."

"Thank you" Stark responded. "Good work" he praised the boy's diligence.

"To be honest I’m quite relieved" Octavian told him. "If the money had been missing in reality I would have felt bound to go through all the paperwork to make sure nothing else was awry" he said. "Poor Lord Baelish said he was going to himself anyway so there goes his leisure time for the next few months."

"Ah, that might be why he requested to come see me later" Ned Stark reasoned. Baelish had been cagey as to why but if it was to do with the incompetence of some of the men he hired, and his own failings to keep a better eye on them, that would explain his reticence to explain. For several years now the Master-of-Coin had been lauded for how well he did his job so anything that showed otherwise would damage his reputation considerably. "Was that all?" he checked. "If so I’ll talk to Septa Mordane and get back to my desk" he said. "So many ravens bringing so many letters for the attention of the King’s Hand every day" he continued sadly. "How Jon Arryn managed to do the job for seventeen years and remain sane I’ll not fathom."

"Yes that was all" Octavian confirmed. "If not before I’ll see you in the Small Council tomorrow Lord Stark."

"Until then Prince Joffrey" Stark replied, offering a slight bow which Octavian returned.

"Father likes you" Sansa whispered to Octavian. "He often mentions what a bright lad you are."

"Good to know" Octavian replied, wondering if he was making the right decision in not telling The Hand of the King that Petyr Baelish was deliberately making the financial situation of the kingdom look even worse than it was for some reason. The falsified records the Master-of-Coin must have concocted in a hurry might have fooled a lesser mind but Octavian had quickly seen through the misdirection, only pretending to accept the version of events that Baelish was trying to sell as truth. 

Lord Baelish had obviously recognised that Robert’s Heir was a great deal smarter than the King, unfortunately for him however he still erroneously believed that he was still nonetheless smarter than the Prince. It was this over-confidence that Octavian planned to use against the man if and when it proved necessary.

Best not let anyone know just how clever I really am until I’ve got something on Varys too, Octavian decided as he walked the gardens with Sansa. The girl was very sweet, loyal and good-natured indicating she really would make an excellent wife, he surmised, recalling his uncle’s dictum that 'Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion.'

Unfortunately for King Robert you certainly couldn’t say that of Cersei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Note from the author:_ **
> 
> _The[Red Keep](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Red_Keep) is a massive structure ordered built by [Aegon the Conquerer](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Aegon_I_Targaryen) for much the same reason that [William the Conqueror](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_the_Conqueror) had the [Tower of London](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Tower_\(Tower_of_London\)) built in real life._
> 
> _The[Tower of the Hand](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tower_of_the_Hand) is the quarters of [The Hand of the King](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Hand_of_the_King) and his retinue within the Red Keep._
> 
> _The[Wall](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Wall) is much higher than it needs to be to keep out [Giants](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Giants) and [Mammoths](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Mammoth) let alone [Wildlings](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Free_folk), [Wights](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Wights) and [White Walkers](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Others)... it's much higher than it needs to be to keep out Godzilla for that matter! _


	10. Part X

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

 

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_"It is not the well-fed man I fear, but the lean and the hungry looking… an exception to this rule may be made for eunuchs."_

**King Joffrey, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm – 302 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

"Have you made any more progress in your investigations into the death of Jon Arryn?" Petyr Baelish asked the King’s Hand as they walked together through the well-kept gardens of the palace grounds.

"No" Eddard Stark replied, wondering which of the various other people wandering the grounds and trying to subtly overhear snippets of their conversation worked for Baelish himself, Lord Varys or perhaps even the Queen. Some might even work for several of them simultaneously. "It’s possible, perhaps even likely he was poisoned, but the poison reputedly used leaves no trace so who can know for certain?"

"For certain perhaps not" Baelish concurred. "But when both my little birds and those of Varys are singing the same song I find it hard to believe we could both be so misinformed at the same time" he said. "Of course the question of motive still stands given how long he had served as your predecessor before his demise" he continued. "Usually I’d point the finger at who benefited but in terms of advancement the person that did best out of his demise was _you_ " he noted wryly.

Stark stopped walking and narrowed his eyes at the Master-of-Coin. "You suspect me?" he asked coldly.

"Well you were always the person that Robert was most likely to appoint as his new Hand" Baelish observed, "but given your relationship with Jon Arryn, plus the fact you didn’t ever want the job and still don’t as far as I can tell, I dismissed the idea" he said before smiling. "Also you could kill a man with steel easily enough but you’d have qualms about poison."

"It’s a woman’s weapon" Ned Stark responded flatly.

"Or a eunuchs perhaps?" Baelish suggested, eyes twinkling. "I jest of course, Varys had nothing to gain and in any case Jon Arryn’s death would look a great deal less suspicious, and more clearly accidental, if he _was_ responsible."

Stark looked around to see if he could spot any eavesdroppers. "That sounds like admiration" he responded. "I didn’t think you and Varys liked each other."

Baelish smiled again. "Oh I think we _like_ each other, the verbal sparring anyway" he said. "And we respect each other’s intelligence, we just don’t _trust_ each other, which is perhaps a pity because we both got onto the Small Council based on our abilities, rather than our lineages or who we knew as children" he said before his expression became more serious. "Jon Arryn made me Master-of-Coin because he recognised my talents, saw me appointed ahead of other men with more influential families because he believed in me" Baelish reminded Stark. "Without him I would still be master of nothing but a small stone keep in the Fingers so believe me when I say I want whoever killed him to pay the price for their crime just as much as you do."

Stark nodded. "Jon judged a man on his merits not an accident of birth" he said, recalling fondly the man who had practically raised both himself and King Robert. "That’s why he took up arms with us against the Mad King" he continued, expression hardening. "He might have been the rightful king by blood but Aerys Targaryen wasn’t fit to rule."

Petyr Baelish involuntarily blinked, and his left cheek twitched infinitesimally, but he managed to stop himself reacting externally any more than that. The conversation had just veered in a direction completely the opposite of where he was wanting it to go so he decided to change the subject fast. "Oh I meant to ask" he said offhandedly, "are you accompanying the King on his hunting trip and if so who do you want to chair the Small Council in your absence?" he inquired.

"Volunteering are you?" Lord Stark asked wryly. Definitely a man on the make trying to climb the social ladder at every opportunity, he thought to himself.

"I wouldn’t presume" Baelish responded innocently, "but since Lord Renly is already going hunting with his brother, and our Master-of-Ships Lord Stannis remains at Dragonstone for reasons known only to himself, _someone_ has to be there to run the Seven Kingdoms."

"Good point, perhaps I should ask Grand Maester Pycelle?" Stark suggested. Although not renowned for witty repartee or a great teller of jokes his skill at deadpan delivery was unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms, it came from always sounding so serious and equally looking so damn grim all the time. "Or Lord Varys perhaps?"

Baelish raised his eyebrows. "Pycelle with even temporary authority is a nightmarish notion, the man’s just a self-serving letch with delusions of competence, whereas Varys is an immigrant from Essos and hence unacceptable as a foreigner."

"Isn’t your family from Essos too?" Stark queried, maintaining his deadpan expression.

"Not for three generations" the Master of Coin replied evenly. This was actually a sore point with him, and not one that was much of a secret. His great-grandfather had been a Braavosi sellsword who came to Westeros for employment, and indeed the Sigil of House Baelish was a representation of the head of the Titan of Braavos which stood over the harbour there. For his part Petyr Baelish had chosen not to use his family sigil as his crest, preferring to use a mockingbird instead, and although this was partially to make him seem more amiable than the image of the Titan projected he also didn’t like to broadcast so obviously that his family hailed from overseas. "Aren’t _all_ our families from Essos originally though?" he pointed out.

Stark rubbed his chin. "Yes, but I think _my_ family has been here about _five hundred generations_ or thereabouts" he remarked before smiling gently, he had yanked the poor man’s chain of office enough for now. "I hadn’t decided whether or not to go on the hunt, but if I do and someone has to keep my seat warm it’ll be you" he told Baelish. "My wife considers you an old and dear friend and even if I didn’t trust her judgement, which I do, you’re dead right about the alternatives being unacceptable."

Baelish smiled. "You might trust her but you really shouldn’t trust me" he warned. "Not with my reputation" he joked.

"If the man in charge of raising taxes and collecting duties hasn’t made a few enemies, and doesn’t have people casting aspirations on his character, he isn’t doing his bloody job properly" Stark replied.

"Probably true alas" the Master of Coin agreed. "Oh, I also meant to say, Lord Tyrion mentioned to me that your son Brandon was evidently on the mend when he stopped in at Winterfell again on his way back from visiting The Wall" Baelish seemed to suddenly remember. "Wonderful news, I was very happy to hear it."

"He’ll likely never walk again but he’s healthy enough otherwise" Stark confirmed. "I haven’t seen Lord Tyrion since he got back to King’s Landing, I need to offer him my thanks for designing a saddle so that Bran could ride" he said. "According to Catelyn’s messages by raven it’s become difficult to get the boy off a horse” he added with a smile.

Baelish smiled himself. "I’ve long held that it’s only a pity that the good head on Tyrion’s shoulders isn’t supported by a body that’s further off the ground, so many people only see the dwarf not the calibre of the man" he observed sadly. "Of all three of Lord Tywin’s children he’s the one that most takes after his father in brains, if not necessarily disposition" he said. "Not that Tywin appreciates that of course, he still seems to blame his youngest for the death of his wife in childbirth, and hates him for it, which isn’t exactly fair."

"Indeed" Stark concurred, "It’s not as if you can hold a mewling new-born accountable for anything they might do."

"True, but I was rather thinking that Tywin might consider it might have been his fault in a way" Baelish responded.

Stark frowned. "How so?" he queried.

"Tywin and his wife Joanna were first cousins, not an illegal marriage of course, nor one that the Faith holds as an abomination, but breeding too close to home isn’t good for a blood-line, as anyone with knowledge of animal husbandry can tell you" Baelish explained his thinking. "Perhaps if he hadn’t married his uncle’s daughter _all_ his children might have come out normal" he suggested. "I mean it’s not as bad as doing what the Targaryens did and wed and bed your own sister but it _can’t_ be a good idea."

Stark nodded. Although the power of the Targaryen dynasty had made incest acceptable for them, and them only, in the eyes of the Faith and the great houses, the fact that Aerys was by no means the only monster in their line certainly helped demonstrate the wisdom in looking further afield than your own family for a spouse, or at the very least further away than a first cousin of the same generation. "From what I’ve heard, up north of the wall wildlings even take their own daughters for wives" he told Baelish with a grimace. 

"Savages" Baelish responded with a look of distaste which only lasted a moment before he suddenly started laughing. "Sorry" he apologised to Stark who was looking at him quizzically, "an amusing thought just popped into my head" he explained. "If the Lannisters kept on marrying their close relatives would their hair get blonder and blonder until its silver like the Targaryens?" he wondered. "Maybe it’s a pity Cersei married a Baratheon instead of her cousin Lancel or we might know for sure" he suggested, laughing again.

"Only a twisted mind would come up with something like that" Eddard Stark told him sternly before laughing himself, although the laughter soon gave way to a frown as a very nasty thought popped into his own head. Jon Arryn's interest in the book _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ , his visits to Robert's bastard offspring, and his last words, repeated over and over according to Grand Maester Pycelle, "The seed is strong".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _The Targaryens practiced both incest and polygamy, both of which were frowned upon by both Westerosi tradition and the[Faith of the Seven](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Faith_of_the_Seven)... but they had armies and dragons so they got away with it. _
> 
> _[Joanna Lannister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Joanna_Lannister), wife of [Tywin](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tywin_Lannister), mother of [Jaime](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jaime_Lannister), [Cersei](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Cersei_Lannister) and [Tyrion](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tyrion_Lannister) was Tywin's first cousin (Tywin's father [Tytos](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tytos_Lannister) was her father [Jason's](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jason_Lannister_\(son_of_Gerold\)) elder brother). Petyr Baelish is more than clever enough to work that into a conversation he's trying to steer for a purpose. Thanks to different circumstances Eddard Stark needed more of a push to put two-and-two together but to use a metaphor with a Westerosi twist the [Glass Candle](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Glass_candle) just went on above his head. _


	11. Part XI

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"Men willingly believe what they wish"_

**Joffrey Augustus, The Wars in Essos - 315 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Sat alone at his desk in the Tower of the Hand, a weighty tome open before him, Eddard Stark scanned down the page. “Lord Orys Baratheon, black of hair. Axel Baratheon, black of hair. Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair,” he read aloud, “Steffon Baratheon, black of hair” he said, flipping to the next page. “Robert Baratheon, black of hair. Joffrey Baratheon” he paused. “Golden haired” he said eventually, frowning as he looked down upon the copy of _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ he had borrowed from Grand Maester Pycelle.

Did that prove Cersei had cuckolded Robert with another man, perhaps even her own brother? Petyr Baelish and his idle talk of blond Lannisters and Targaryen incest had certainly triggered a thought along those lines that the book seemed to support but was that enough, Stark considered.

All of Robert Baratheon’s known bastard offspring had dark black hair sure enough, whereas his “legitimate” offspring did not, but then again not all of the eight or so women who had born a child out-of-wedlock to the king were light of hair themselves so that wasn’t entirely conclusive in itself was it, Stark thought to himself?

Returning to the book, whenever a Lannister had previously married a Baratheon it seemed that the resulting children were dark haired, again supporting the theory, but then again it hadn’t really happened that often over the years. Prior to the wedding of Robert and Cersei the last Baratheon to marry a Lannister was Gowen Baratheon who had married Tya Lannister ninety years ago, and the next most recent union between the two houses was decades before that. Too much further back and the House of Baratheon didn’t even _exist_ as such, because its founder, Orys, had only arrived in Westeros along with the invading Targaryens, so there weren’t exactly thousands of years of records to go on like there were for marriages between other Westerosi Houses.

Orys Baratheon was himself also rumoured to be the bastard half-brother of Aegon the Conqueror, both being sons of Aerion of the House Targaryen, so the family history was a little murky to start with for that matter.

The thing was, even though the House of Baratheon were dark of hair the Lannisters were practically _renowned_ for being blond. Cersei was light of hair, as were both of her brothers. Her father Tywin was light of hair, as were all of his own brothers and his sister. Her grandfather Tytos was light of hair, as were all three of his brothers and her great-grandfather Gerold Lannister was actually known as “The Golden”, and not because of the gold mines of the Westerlands.

Unlike the Baratheons the Lannisters _were_ a very old House. Despite being southerners, with a great deal of Andal blood in their veins as a result, their family could be traced back to Lann the Clever, a legendary hero of the First Men. If you wanted to find examples of golden-haired Lannisters who had golden-haired children _despite_ having dark haired wives or husbands _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ was full of them going back to the dawn of recorded history. Not every time of course, but more than enough to point to if you wanted to deride the notion that Joffrey not having Roberts dark hair was certain proof he wasn’t the king’s son.

For one thing, as Baelish had noted, Cersei was probably even more of a Lannister than your average Lannister because her parents were first cousins, both being grandchildren of Gerold, he of the famously golden hair.

Eddard Stark groaned, even though something told him it was true he couldn’t help but imagine mentioning this notion he had to someone else and getting looked at like he was a bloody idiot. “So because Prince Joffrey is blond, like practically every other person with Lannister blood for the past ten thousand years, you think Robert isn’t his father?” he muttered to himself, imagining what the other person might say. “I suppose you think those red-haired children of yours prove your wife slept with her brother Edmure too do you?” Stark continued sarcastically, before burying his head in his hands.

Maybe it _was_ true but how could be prove it? If there was one thing that he had rediscovered anew recently about Lannisters it was that they weren’t stupid. Tywin himself was always well known for his planning and calculation and now his grandson Joffrey had repeatedly demonstrated in the Small Council that he was very bright. Even the runt of the Lannister litter, the dwarf Tyrion, was well read, and Petyr Baelish, a very clever man himself, appeared to rate his intellect highly.

I could confront the queen directly but only a complete _moron_ would admit to cuckolding the king with her own brother, Stark thought to himself, either crime being punishable by death. If I tell the king of my suspicions he’ll either believe me, and have Cersei and her children executed, or he _won’t_ believe me and then who knows what he’ll do. I could warn Cersei before telling the king, giving her the opportunity to escape with her children beforehand, but if she doesn’t run, what happens next?

It might not even be _true_ though, in which case I’ll potentially have entirely innocent blood on my hands, Stark realised. _Robert's_ blood if they were his children after all. Joffrey isn’t a bad young lad, despite what I’ve heard people say about him, and nobody has a bad word to say about his brother and sister even if their mother isn’t exactly beloved, he thought.

Agreeing to the assassination of the Targaryen pretenders in Essos still weighed heavily on Eddard Stark’s conscience. Killing someone for something they might do was wrong, despite any arguments as to it being necessary, or the lesser of two evils, how is killing someone for something they might be any better?

It seemed likely that Jon Arryn had reached the same conclusion by looking at the same evidence regarding Joffrey’s parentage, Eddard Stark surmised, and _perhaps_ that was the reason for his assassination, but nobody has tried to kill _me_ despite my visiting Robert’s bastards and obtaining this book from Grand Maester Pycelle as he did. Is there more to learn, something else that Jon Arryn discovered that I have yet to find out? Conclusive proof of Joffrey not being Robert’s son or even something else entirely?

If you were trying to destabilise the Seven Kingdoms then driving a wedge between the Great Houses would be necessary. For that matter if you wanted to _stabilise_ the Seven Kingdoms then something that bound several of them together in blood upon the Iron Throne would be extremely welcome. Beyond their ties of friendship Robert Baratheon had another reason to want to wed his son to Eddard Stark’s daughter as a child they produced would have Stark and Tully blood through Sansa and Baratheon and Lannister blood through Joffrey. That was four of the seven kingdoms united, even without considering that Robin Arryn, now Lord of the Vale with his father’s death, was Sansa’s first cousin.

Something else that Lord Baelish had said was also nagging at Eddard Stark’s mind. The Master of Coin had commented that when considering who had murdered Jon Arryn that when looking for motive in such situations he usually pointed the finger at whoever benefitted, and that made a lot of sense. If Joffrey wasn’t Robert’s son, and the Lannisters discovered that Jon Arryn had learned this, it would be in their interests to shut him up, permanently. On the other hand could there be even more going on than first appeared? Who benefitted from Joffrey and his siblings being removed from the line of succession? Or for that matter who benefitted from a less stable kingdom?

With Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella gone then Stannis was next in line, not that the man was the type for scheming himself but if someone led him to believe, rightly or wrongly, that the current heir was illegitimate he would definitely follow the letter-of-the-law and claim the throne, perhaps leading to civil war on Roberts death. Not only was Stannis younger, if not by much, Robert’s constant drinking and feasting would likely put him in his tomb years before his younger brother after all.

As for wanting Westeros destabilised the most likely candidates would be the Targaryens, Stark reasoned. Did they still have enough influence and supporters in Westeros to be a genuine threat?

“I need to know more before I decide what to do” Stark said to himself firmly, closing the book shortly before someone knocked on the door of his chamber. “Come in” he called out, the door opening to reveal his eldest daughter, herself carrying a book if a rather smaller volume than the one before him. “What is it Sansa?” he asked.

“Prince Joffrey came to the door and asked me to pass this onto you” she said, walking in and holding out the book for him to take.

Eddard Stark took it from her. “ _Fire upon the Grass_ ” he read the title aloud.

“It’s a book by a Braavosi that rode with a Dothraki horde apparently” Sansa explained. “Joffrey said he hoped you might sleep easier regarding your decision after you read what they did to the town of Ibbish, and remember that they did the same to all the other towns and cities around the Dothraki Sea” she said. “What did he mean by ‘sleep easier’ father?” she asked curiously.

“Small Council business, nothing to concern you sweetheart” Stark replied, putting down the book. Whether the boy was a bastard or not in the literal meaning of the word he seemed a decent sort and clearly wasn’t one in the derogatory sense. “Did he say anything else?”

“No, he wasn’t here more than a couple of minutes” Sansa replied before rolling her eyes. “Arya asked if he wanted to practice against her with wooden swords tomorrow” she told her father. “He said now that she’s been having lessons she might need a better opponent because he’s not really very good.”

“Not like his uncle Jaime then” Stark responded before frowning and looking at both books before him. No, Joffrey wasn’t much like Robert but he then again wasn’t much like Jaime Lannister _either_ was he? Apart from the archetypical Lannister looks anyway.

From Eddard Stark’s observations if Joffrey took after anyone it was his grandfather Tywin, but then again not all of the Baratheon’s were warhammer swinging battle lords like Robert Baratheon, some were adept at politics not just combat. Robert’s grandfather Ormund had served as Hand of the King, and if he hadn’t died in a shipwreck his son Steffon, Robert’s father, would have likely been made Hand as well.

“Is something wrong father?” Sansa asked, his expression seemed to say so.

“I don’t actually know for absolute certain and that’s the problem” Eddard Stark replied sadly. “And if I did know either way I’d still have a problem” he added, looking his most grim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _The quote at the top is actually from Julius Caesar and comes from his book The Gallic Wars, Octavian "borrowed" it for his own book._
> 
> _While[Baratheon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Baratheon) children, legitimate or not are dark-haired, [Lannisters](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Lannister) are notoriously blond so "The Seed is Strong" isn't exactly a slam-dunk argument unless you want to believe in it. Baratheons have married Lanninsters before, and this resulted in children with black hair, but the two houses really haven't inter-married very often so the number of examples to point to are very thin. The most recent marriage mentioned in the books (between [Gowen Baratheon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Gowen_Baratheon) and [Tya Lannister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tya_Lannister)) was nine decades ago and the most recent before that was another four decades earlier so unless Baratheons married Lannisters en-masse for the first few years after Aegon's Conquest there haven't been a lot of weddings between them. _
> 
> _[Fire upon the Grass](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Fire_Upon_the_Grass) follows a Braavosi as he travels with the Dothraki and includes his recollections of their sacking of [Ibbish](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Vaes_Aresak). The [Dothraki Sea](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dothraki_sea) and its environs contain a good number of sacked towns and cities. _
> 
> _In a situation when he hasn't fought with Jaime outside a brothel following the massacre of his bannermen by Lannister Guards, doesn't have a hole in his leg because of the spear wielded by one of those guards, there isn't a Lannister raiding party led by Gregor Clegane laying waste to the Riverlands and he doesn't think that Tyrion made an attempt on the life of his son Brandon, Ned Stark isn't as automatically hostile to those of Lannister blood as he would have been otherwise._
> 
> _Men willingly believe what they wish and Eddard Stark, wishing that Joffrey is Roberts son because he likes him, and if he's not then things are going to get horribly messy, is trying to justify that belief in his own mind._


	12. Part XII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That may not always be true of swords but I've yet to encounter a Valyrian Mind"_

**The Wit and Wisdom of Tyrion Lannister - 325 AL**

 

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**The Kingswood – Crownlands – 298 AL **

“Wipe that miserable expression off your face Joffrey” Robert Baratheon ordered. “This is supposed to be enjoyable” he told the boy. 

“Is it?” Octavian muttered quietly to himself. “According to who?” he wondered as he trudged through the mud, following the others through the forest.

The day had started well enough. After a good breakfast Octavian had looked forward to ploughing through the stack of books he had borrowed from Grand Maester Pycelle at Tyrion’s recommendation but unfortunately just as he was settling down to read in one of the better lit rooms in the Royal Apartments King Robert had walked in looking for something and from then on the day was on a downward trajectory.

“Bloody hell boy, don’t you have something better to do than read?” Robert had asked rhetorically before frowning. “Every time I see you these days you’re either sitting on your arse reading or sitting on your arse in boring bloody meetings” he said. “Aerys the First like to read all the time, liked it more than ruling the kingdom, or even shagging his wife, which is why he left the Seven Kingdoms in a worse state than he found it, and without fathering an heir” Robert remembered from his lessons as a boy. 

“I’ll leave Westeros in a better condition than I found it” Octavian had replied confidently. “No offence meant father” he quickly added, remembering who it was he would be inheriting it from.

Robert laughed. “I might not be Jaehaerys the Wise but the Seven Kingdoms are still better off under me than they were under the Mad King, the history books will have to credit me with that at least” he said confidently. They might complain he drank and whored too much but at least Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, didn’t burn people alive as a hobby.

The King looked at his son again, he knew he hadn’t been a good father but he still had a few years in him to do better. “Right then, bollocks to this, you’re coming with me hunting” he decided.

Octavian’s aghast look had not helped him very much. “Do I have to?” he had replied. “Is this punishment for something?”

“It’s not punishment, it’s fun” Robert had told him, rolling his eyes. “A little fresh air and exercise won’t do you any harm” he insisted. “And you get to kill something” he had continued. “It’s good for the soul”.

“If not the deer” Octavian had been unable to resist retorting, realising his mistake immediately when Robert’s face darkened.

“I’ll take none of that cheek from you” Robert had growled. “I’m not just your father, I’m your king” he reminded the boy sternly. “You’ve spent too much time with your mother and not enough with me, that’s the problem” he decided, that woman had spoiled the boy, let him go soft and get away with too much. “Now go find some clothes you don’t mind getting dirty, not that expensive shit you usually wear, we’re going to the Kingswood” he had said firmly, clearly not about to take no for an answer.

There was clearly no point in arguing so Octavian had closed the book he had open and went to do as he was told. His own father Gaius Octavius had died when he was four, resulting in his mother taking sole charge of his upbringing, and he wondered how different a person he might have been with more of a paternal influence in his life.

At least King Robert hadn’t insisted he carry a boar spear or a hunting bow, and as they tromped between the trees in the area of the wood specifically kept as a private hunting preserve for royalty, Octavian wondered if he might actually get some actual use from his crossbow rather than firing it at targets the servants set up for him in the palace grounds.

Inheriting several of the things of different types and different draw-weights from Joffrey himself Octavian couldn’t help but admit that he found them really quite fascinating too. While the Roman Legions utilised large torsion weapons as field artillery, the ballista and the smaller scorpio for example, they didn’t have a readily man-portable weapon like this with which even a barely trained soldier could bring down the most heavily armoured opponent. True, it didn’t have the rate-of-fire of a normal bow in the hands of a skilled user but it took years of practice to produce a first-rate bowman, whereas anybody could point a loaded crossbow in the right direction and pull the trigger.

The Greek city-states had used something vaguely similar, their Gastaphetes or belly-bow, but it was far more unwieldy and difficult to aim than this Westerosi weapon which is why the Legions hadn’t adopted it themselves, despite a long history of absorbing the military technology of their foes.

Although Robert would have like to have his old friend Eddard along for the hunting trip somebody needed to stay in the capital to run the Seven Kingdoms and with Stannis absent from court, and Renly already on the hunting party, Ned Stark was the only man Robert trusted with the job. You needed balls, both figuratively and literally in Roberts opinion, to wield power so delegating to Varys for even a few days was out of the question and Petyr Baelish was too bloody clever by half, you only had to look at the ways he moved money about to realise the man’s mind was always scheming away.

Robert didn’t enjoy wearing the crown, at least not the actual administration required and the constant decision making on trivial issues, which was why he had always offloaded that part of the job on Jon Arryn and was now doing the same to poor Ned Stark. The king daydreamed of being able to give up the Iron Throne and sailing off to Essos to spend the rest of his life as a sell-sword, although he knew he would have been better at it at least ten years and five stone in weight ago, but he couldn’t even dream about doing that with his heir still not grown and susceptible to his mother’s whispering in his ear.

At least the boy was showing encouraging signs of growing up in recent months though, Robert thought with satisfaction as he turned back to see Joffrey aiming down the sights of an unloaded crossbow at a tree. “Just don’t accidentally shoot me in the arse with that thing later or I won’t be the only one that can’t sit down for a week” he told him. “Just because nobody else can lay hands on you doesn’t mean I can’t tan your hide” he declared, laughing before re-directing his attention to his brother. “You might be too young to remember getting a hiding from our father but by the Gods that man could make your backside sting” he recalled, wincing at the decades old memory.

“I never knew him” Renly replied evenly. He had been barely a year old when Steffon Baratheon and their mother Cassana died.

Following in Joffrey’s tracks, as bodyguard he rarely left the boy’s side, Sandor Clegane was glad he was so practiced at keeping his mouth shut because the urge to comment that Renly was well used to having a sore arse was hard to resist.

“More wine Your Grace?” Lancel Lannister, the king’s squire asked, holding out Robert’s wine-skin which the king took from him and took a large swig before practically throwing it back at the youth.

“Now, what was I saying before?” he tried to remember.

“You were saying it was a simpler time” Renly reminded him.

Robert nodded. “It was. It was. You're too young to remember. Wasn't it simpler, Selmy?” he asked Ser Barristan who was accompanying the group as bodyguard to the king.

“It was, Your Grace” Selmy had to agree, that didn’t make it better though he thought to himself.

“The enemy was right in the open, vicious as you like, all but sending you a bloody invitation” Robert recalled. “Nothing like today” he added regretfully. All this politics and backstabbing, that was no life for a soldier he knew.

Renly rolled his eyes. “It sounds exhilarating” he responded in a sardonic tone.

“Exhilarating, yes. Not as exhilarating as those balls and masquerades you like to throw” Robert replied, laughing mockingly “You ever fuck a Riverlands girl?” he asked his brother.

“Is this really a proper topic of conversation with your young son here?” Renly responded, hoping to get off this subject.

“He’s not a bloody infant, he’s nearly a man” Robert replied with a snort. “So have _you_ ever fucked a Riverlands girl?” he asked his son, grinning.

Octavian couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “No, not as far as I know” he replied awkwardly. The girl in the brothel in Rome had been taken from a distant land but he strongly doubted it was from _that_ distant land.

Robert laughed again. “So have you fucked a Riverlands girl or not?” he asked his youngest brother again.

“Once. I think” Renly replied.

“You think? I think you'd remember” Robert retorted. “Back in our day, you weren't a real man until you’d fucked one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands” he said. “We used to call it making the eight.”

“Those were some lucky girls” Renly wryly observed.

“You ever make the eight, Selmy?” Robert asked the Lords Commander of his King’s Guard.

“I don't believe so, your Grace” Ser Barristan replied, an amused expression hinted at on his face. 

Robert sighed. “Those were the days” he said nostalgically.

“Which days, exactly?” Renly asked, his tone becoming increasingly snide causing Robert to stop walking and face him directly. “The ones where half of Westeros fought the other half and millions died?” he asked sarcastically. “Or before that, when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it?” he continued. “Or way before that, when dragons burned whole cities to the ground?” Renly exclaimed, everyone else in the hunting party now trying to make themselves look as unobtrusive as possible.

Robert fixed him with a glare. “Easy, boy. You might be my brother, but you're speaking to the King” he reminded him curtly.

“I suppose it was all rather heroic” Renly persisted. “If you were drunk enough and had some poor Riverlands whore to shove your prick inside and make the eight” he added, before stamping away.

“More wine, Your Grace?” Lancel asked nervously, holding out the wineskin again, Robert re-directing his fierce gaze in the squire’s direction for a moment before snatching the wine from his hands.

“Should I fetch him back?” Octavian asked, waiting for an answer as Renly continued to walk away.

“Let him be” Robert replied eventually after downing a good quarter of the wine. “Never knew our father, he said, and it bloody shows trust me” he muttered, throwing the wine-skin back at Lancel. “Fuck this, I want to kill something” he growled.

Octavian pursed his lips. “He shouldn’t have talked to you that way” he stated.

“No he bloody shouldn’t” Robert agreed before spitting on the floor. “But at least I know he’s one of the few men in the kingdom that will ever say something to me that I don’t want to hear” he said, turning to look his son straight in the eye. “Here’s a lesson for you for the day you sit on the Iron Throne, it’s better to surround yourself with a few men that argue with you sometimes, and speak their minds, than a thousand arse-kissers who only say what they think you want to hear” Robert told him. “You might want to punch them in the face sometimes, or have them thrown in the dungeon, but they’ll keep you from starting to believe you’re more than a man and they won’t stab you in the back like one of those mewling sycophants in the Red Keep would.”

“Yes father” Octavian replied with a sage nod.

“Also while you’re remembering that, remind me later to punch your Uncle Renly in the face” Robert instructed.

“Seriously?” Octavian checked, he wasn’t always sure when the man was being serious. He was prone to mood swings which could be down to the drinking.

Robert sighed. “No better not, if I smashed in that pretty face of his he’d never forgive me” he replied. “Say what you like about Stannis, at least your other uncle isn’t vain, not that he’s got much to be vain about but still” Robert joked, finally cracking a smile again.

Octavian laughed and after a moment so did Lancel Lannister although he regretted it immediately when the king glowered at him once more. “Are you laughing at my family?” Robert asked the squire coldly.

“Um… no” Lancel replied nervously.

“Good, you might be related to my son by blood but you’re nothing to me” Robert told him. “Let’s catch up with Renly and get back to the hunt” he ordered, leading off in the direction his youngest brother had gone.

The more tedious the situation the slower time seems to flow, Octavian had found, and although it might have only been a couple of hours before they eventually found a boar it felt like days. Robert had told Joffrey to stay back with the others when he advanced alone on the creature, spear-in-hand. Boars were far more dangerous than many people gave them credit for, imagining them to be more like a domesticated farmyard pig than the wild beast they were, but judging by his slurred speech and unsteady walk Octavian thought it should be the king that should stay back.

Unless it was a Bacchanalian ritual most Romans of the equestrian classes tended to frown upon getting drunk, preferring watered-down wine to the undiluted stuff favoured by undisciplined plebs, and anyone with any sense from any class wouldn’t drink themselves half way into a stupor when out hunting something that was any less docile than a skittish deer.

Gauls were notorious drunkards, first the Greeks and then later the Romans had made a fortune trading strong wine to them in return for slaves via the port of Massilia, but Octavian doubted that even those unwashed barbarians went out hunting boar when sloshed out of their minds.

When the boar launched itself at him Robert mistimed his thrust and the rest of the hunting party gaped in horror, too far back to help.

In conditions of extreme stress time slows down and Robert had long enough to draw his knife and imagine his entry in the history books as ending “killed by a pig” before a crossbow bolt slammed into the boar’s skull and drove itself deep into its brain.

Weighing as much as a very large man and going a full tilt the boar kept going off sheer inertia and still knocked Robert sideways, both man and beast hitting the ground at the same time although only one of them was still breathing.

“Bloody hell!” Robert exclaimed.

“Are you alright Your Grace?” Barristan Selmy asked in alarm although it was Renly that reached the king first being a younger man.

“I think that bastard broke my ribs, or the bloody ground did” Robert complained, trying to right himself with the assistance of Renly.

Renly inspected him for other injuries, no blood so at least the boar’s tusks hadn’t gored him. “You’ll need strapping up before we move on if you did” he said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“You’re very lucky Prince Joffrey has a good aim” Selmy told the king, pointing to where the heir to the throne was still standing there aiming his empty crossbow at where the pig had been, eyes wide in shock and pale as northern snow.

“I’d ask for my wineskin but it looks like he needs it more than I do” Robert declared, starting to laugh but quickly regretting it when his broken ribs complained.

Octavian finally blinked. “Did I hit it?” he asked.

“Yes you did, right in the head” Sandor Clegane told him, bending down to inspect the animal. “Big fucker this one” he observed.

“That’s not where I was aiming, I thought I had a better chance of hitting it in the body” Octavian responded, before swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Then I’ll take it back Your Grace” Ser Barristan corrected himself, kneeling down beside the king. “You’re lucky Prince Joffrey, doesn’t have a good aim” he deadpanned.

“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts too bloody much” Robert replied. “Get your arse over here boy” he ordered. “Not you Lancel you idiot” he told the squire who had started to dash over, holding out the wineskin.

Still clutching onto the crossbow for dear life Octavian went to the king’s side. “I guess you don’t want the Iron Throne for yourself just yet” Robert said to him. “Unless you missed with that crossbow by even more than you said and you were trying to put that bolt in me” he added, grinning.

“I don’t think anyone could miss a target that size” Renly quipped, partially just out of relief Robert was alright.

Robert frowned. “Wasn’t there something you were supposed to remind me to do Joffrey?” he asked his son.

“Punch Uncle Renly in the face?” Octavian responded, giving the man an apologetic look.

“That was it” Robert confirmed, holding up a mighty fist. “It can wait until my ribs are bound and that fucking boar is roasting on a spit though” he decided, unclenching his fist and grinning at his little brother before groaning in pain. “I’m going to feel like shit tomorrow morning between the ribs and the hangover” he realised.

“Just don’t try and make the eight for a while” Renly advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Cersei tried to have Robert killed by ensuring he was dangerously drunk while on his hunting trip in the[Kingswood](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Kingswood). At her behest [Lancel Lannister](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Lancel_Lannister) kept plying Robert with unusually strong wine until he was in no fit state to deal with something as dangerous as a wild boar. _
> 
> _The medieval style crossbows seen in Westeros weren't a weapon the Romans had but they did have[ballista](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballista) and [scorpions](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scorpio_\(weapon\)) while the Greek [Gastraphetes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gastraphetes) is similiar enough to the Westerosi weapon for Octavian to put them in the same category. _
> 
> _Joffrey was a big fan of crossbows, in the books he liked to take pot-shots at people begging outside the Red Keep for bread with them. Octavian likes the things too but for less unpleasant reasons, they're a good weapon for a middling swordsman and he sees wider possibilities for them militarily._
> 
> _[Aerys I Targaryen](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Aerys_I_Targaryen) was a great book enthusiast, but not a particularly good king. [Jaehaerys I Targaryen](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jaehaerys_I_Targaryen) however (Jaehaerys the Wise) is generally regarded as the best ruler of the Seven Kingdoms because he was both a keen reader and a capable soldier. _


	13. Part XIII... THIRTEEN!!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while.

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_"The night is dark and full of terrors but the fire burns them all away"_

**Melisandre**

_"Pity about the collateral damage, eh?"_

**King Joffrey**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Entering the king’s bedroom Eddard Stark found Robert sat up in bed, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest was tightly bounds by loops of bandages. “Take a seat Ned” Robert greeted him, “but first pour us both some wine and then try some of this roast boar” he instructed his friend, indicating the crystal decanter and silver cups on the nearby table and the large plate piled high with meat that was lying on the bed beside him. “Best I’ve ever tasted” Robert declared, picking up a large piece and stuffing it into his mouth.

The Hand of the King smiled and poured two cups of wine, handing one to his friend before sitting down on the chair next to the bed. “How are the ribs?” he asked.

“Bloody painful every time I move” Robert replied after washing down his mouthful of roast boar with a swig of wine. “Haven’t had broken ribs in years” he continued, ‘last time I got them jousting and before that it would have been in battle’ he said.

“From what I remember of those battles it was usually you breaking other men’s ribs not your own” Stark recalled.

“Yes well you might have favoured a sword but I always preferred hitting them with the hammer, smash the whole bloody breastplate in, they weren’t getting up again after that” Robert replied, grinning. “Go on, try the boar” he insisted, Stark reaching over to take a piece and popping it into his mouth.

“It’s good” Stark agreed.

“Too right it is” Robert replied. “Best attempted regicide I’ve ever tasted” he joked, raising the cup to his lips again.

Eddard Stark chuckled but then looked serious again. “You were lucky” he told the king.

“I was lucky my son was there to save my drunken arse” Robert replied. “Twenty years ago I would have never missed with my spear but I’m too slow and too fat these days.”

“From what I heard you were too drunk” Stark chided.

“That too” Robert admitted. “I used to have more sense than to fuck about with something that can kill me while I had a bellyful of wine.”

Stark smiled. “And it’s a lot more of a belly to fill these days.”

“Easy now, I already admitted I was fat, no need to keep mentioning it” Robert growled before smiling again. “My boy did good” he said proudly, “kept his nerve when things went to shit and made his bolt count” he continued before reaching for something else that was resting beside the plate of meat. “I’m going to get it gold plated” he said, holding up a crossbow bolt, the steel point slightly deformed by impact and the wooden shaft stained red with blood. “Something Joffrey can show our grandchildren” he continued, looking at the thing intently. “The crossbow bolt he saved their grandfather’s life with.”

“You were never a fan of crossbows” Stark observed. Like many in the nobility Robert regarded the weapon with distain. Any peasant could bring down the mightiest armoured swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms with a crossbow and some luck, and they wouldn’t even have to be close enough to the swordsman to be in danger from him while taking aim.

“No, but I’d knight the one that fired this fucking bolt if I could” Robert declared, laughing uproariously for a moment before his ribs expressed their objection with a stab of pain. “Gods that hurts” he complained, putting down the crossbow bolt again. “I should send for Stannis, no chance of him ever making me laugh and I gave up trying to get _him_ to laugh years ago.”

Stark chuckled again. “I guess sending your court jester in to brighten your spirits while you’re stuck in here waiting to heal would be a bad idea then” he joked.

“I’ll be back on my feet in a couple of days, mark my word” Robert vowed. “I might not be up to running around chasing whores by then but I can still sit on the Iron Throne and rule the kingdom” he said before looking down. The bandages around his chest made his belly stick out even more than normal. “I must have gained five stone since I won that throne” he said sadly.

“I’d have said eight” Stark told him honestly. “Could be five since you kicked Balon Greyjoy’s arse though” he said. “You still fitted in your armour and could swing that damn great hammer around like it was a toy back then.”

Robert Baratheon sighed. “That was a good war” he recalled wistfully. “Knights from all over Westeros rallied together to kick the living shit out of those fucking pirates and their “Drowned God” bollocks” he said. “I’m not good with peace” he admitted. “Part of me wishes the Targaryens _would_ return, Dothraki Screamers in tow, so I could smash in some breastplates again.”

“The Dothraki don’t wear breastplates” Stark pointed out. “Talking of which Joffrey gave me a book about them, I’ll lend it to you to keep you from getting too bored in here if you like” he offered. “I’ve read the first couple of chapters, it’s not bad” he said. “Lots of fighting and bloodshed, you’ll like it.”

“Seven hells, he hasn’t got _you_ reading as well has he?” Robert replied. “If I hadn’t dragged him away from his damn books you’d be eating that boar at my funeral feast.”

“There are worse ways for the heir to the throne to spend his time” Stark opined.

“And better ways for a teenage lad to spend it too before the poor sod has to sit on the bloody thing” Robert retorted before turning and looking out of the window. “He’s one drunken accident away from wearing the crown” he said in a maudlin tone. “I worry that his blasted mother will try to rule through him, and her own blasted father try and rule through them both” he continued before turning back to Ned. “As soon as my hangover faded this morning I wrote up a will that names you as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my death” he told him, “If Joffrey hasn’t come of age by then anyway” he said. “You’ll rule the Seven Kingdoms in his name until he’s a full-grown man and can rule himself, you’ll hate it even more than I do but you’ll do it better than I ever did too.”

Stark swallowed. “Where is this will?” he asked.

“The original is in the desk over there and there are copies being made, I had Selmy out there witness it’ Robert replied. “Someone might challenge the will but I’d love to see the man with the balls to accuse _him_ of bearing false witness” he added, grinning evilly.

Eddard Stark nodded. Not only was Ser Barristan’s reputation as a man of good character accepted across the Seven Kingdoms, only a lunatic would publicly doubt the veracity of his word. Doing so would result in a trial by combat with a man who even Jaime Lannister wouldn’t want to risk taking on lightly. Selmy might be getting old now but he had lived long enough to get that way by cutting down every opponent that tried to put him in the ground, plenty of great knights having tried and failed over the years. “If that is what you want” he said eventually.

“I think he’ll be a good king, better than me at least even though that’s damning the boy with faint praise I know” Robert said. “I didn’t used to think so, he used to a horrible little ingrate, but he’s growing into a decent man don’t you think?” he asked his friend hopefully.

Stark nodded. “He’s a nice lad, smart too” he replied.

“At least when I _do_ go to my grave I’ll know for certain that my son chose to save my life when all he had to do to sit on the Iron Throne was aim high” Robert said. “Nobody would have ever known” he continued, reaching for another piece of roast boar. “I bet his mother’s bloody annoyed with him right now” he suggested only half in jest. “She’ll be a lot more angry when she reads her copy of my new will though!” he added with a smirk.

Elsewhere in Maegor's Holdfast, the castle within a castle at the heart of the Red Keep which contained the Royal Apartments, Lancel Lannister was trying to hurry to his destination without looking suspicious or indeed like he was hurrying. He need not have bothered however since as squire to the king and cousin to the he had practically free reign to wander about anyway. As such he was practically ignored by both guards and servants as he made this way to one of the smaller rooms that was accessed by a corridor leading to the Queens Ballroom.

Lancel slowly opened the door and as expected he found Queen Cersei standing there alone. Judging by her expression she was less than happy.

Stepping inside and closing the door behind him Lancel faced Cersei and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a sound however she slapped him across the face, hard.

“I’m sorry” Lancel simpered. “I did what you told me to do, it’s not my fault he’s still alive.”

Cersei glared at him and then slapped him again, harder if anything. “You imbecile!” she snarled. “What if the boar had attacked Joffrey instead of Robert when the drunken fool missed his thrust?” she hissed. “My son could have been gored to death!” she exclaimed, the horrifying image of her beloved Joffrey torn open by the boar’s tusks flashing through her mind. “Why did you still get him drunk?” she wanted to know.

Lancel blinked. “I carried out the plan” he defended himself. “You didn’t say not to go ahead if Joffrey was there.”

The Queen stared at the squire incredulously. “I didn’t know Joffrey was going to be there, Robert doesn’t usually drag him out on hunting trips” she said. “Don’t you have any brains or personal initiative at all?” she asked in disbelief.

“I just did what you told me to do” Lancel persisted. “Does this mean we won’t...’ he paused. “I mean you promised to let me…” his voice petered out.

Cersei made a sound of derision before narrowing her eyes and slapping Lancel a third time. “Robert’s right” she said, not something she could be heard to say often with sincerity, “You _are_ a bloody idiot” she stated. “Why did I ever put my trust in a man that once spent two hours looking for a breastplate stretcher before finding a blacksmith and asking him to make one?”

Lancel blushed with embarrassment, with one side of his face already bright red because of being repeatedly slapped this actually made him look more symmetrical. “What should I do know?” he asked.

Queen Cersei took a deep breath and counted to ten before letting it out again, regaining her composure. “You are going to go see Robert and say you blame yourself for what happened, you should have stopped him drinking once it was obvious he’d drunk too much, and if he wants a different squire you understand.”

“But my father will be furious” Lancel responded in dismay. “I’m the King’s Squire, it’s the only thing he’s proud of me for.”

“I doubt Uncle Kevan is proud of you for _anything_ ” Cersei disagreed. “But in any case Robert won’t dismiss you for always being on hand with wine” she continued, “he doesn’t _want_ a squire that says no when he asks for a drink.”

Lancel was confused. “But then why say I blame myself and offer to leave?” he queried.

“So nobody thinks you did anything wrong” Cersei responded, rolling her eyes. “People who are guilty of something don’t go around pleading their guilt” she explained. “Robert is going to blame himself, he knows he drinks too much and fortunately everyone knows that you’re intimidated by him and always trying to get on his good side.”

“Oh I see” Lancel replied, pouting.

Cersei sighed. Robert was still alive but at least it didn’t seem like Ned Stark had told him anything yet regarding suspicions he might have regarding Joffrey’s true parentage. Her spies had indicated he was about to, noting that he had visited Robert’s bastards, had clandestine private meetings with Varys and Littlefinger and had obtained a book regarding family histories and lineages but perhaps she had moved too early? Or maybe that northern oaf Stark simply wasn’t intelligent enough to join the dots and have the picture reveal itself?

It never occurred to her that some of her spies might also be working for someone else and had deliberately spun a tale designed to push her into this course of action prematurely.

Cersei had many character flaws but one of her greatest was that she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was and was far from being the master manipulator in reality she was in her mind.

When it came to spinning tales and webs of intrigue it was the spider Varys that reigned supreme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _In the show Arya overhears Varys talking to another Targaryen loyalist regarding Eddard Stark having the book that Jon Arryn had been studying before his death, thinking it was therefore only a matter of time before things came to a head, he was always well aware of what was going on thanks to his spy network (and both Cersei and to a lesser extent Baelish not being as sharp as they like to think) and since it suited his purpose to let it continue he did nothing to prevent the ongoing machinations of the other players._
> 
> _Since Ned still wasn't doing anything regarding his suspicions (to the annoyance of Baelish no doubt) Varys has stirred the pot by leading Cersei to believe her incest was about to be revealed to the king._
> 
> _So many factions, sometimes with the same goals, other times in opposition to one another._


	14. Part XIV

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"It's funny how we when we think of Aerys hoarding wildfire and saying 'Burn Them All!' we call him the Mad King but when Joffrey did the same people cheered."_

**The Wit and Wisdom of Tyrion Lannister - 325 AL**

 

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** The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL  **

Having woke up in someone else’s body Octavian’s scepticism regarding the supernatural wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been, although he was still inclined to go along with his “Uncle” Tyrion that all the old tales of mystical creatures north of the wall were to be seen as dubious without reliable eye-witness accounts more recent than several millennia ago.

Folktales of White Walkers, Snarks and Grumpkins aside, the fact you could actually see and touch the skeletons of dragons in the cellar of the Red Keep was certainly good supporting evidence for all the references to the creatures in books written on the Valyrian Freehold, and the early years of Targaryen rule in Westeros. Even more intriguingly perhaps magic itself appeared to be real in this world, albeit rarely encountered even in Essos where warlocks, maegi and shadowbinders were to be found.

Attempting to see the world in his own terms Octavian had already drawn a parallel between the dominant religion in Westeros, The Faith of the Seven, and the religion he had himself been brought up in. Fortunately Romans did not automatically assume the gods of other peoples were automatically false just because they thought their own were real and this had led to a theology that rather sought to fit them into the existing structure.

Jupiter, the supreme deity in the Roman pantheon was assumed to be the same being as Zeus who the Greeks worshipped. Similarly Mars, the God of War, was also the Greek Ares, and so on, with Minerva also being Athena for another example.

On that basis why couldn’t the local deities also be simply other names for the same beings? What if Jupiter was The Father as well as being Zeus, Mars was The Warrior as well as Ares?

It all actually fitted quite nicely the more he thought about it. The Maiden was Diana and Artemis, The Smith was Vulcan and Hephaestus and The Stranger was Pluto and Hades.

At least as a hypothesis it might help explain why he got placed into Joffrey if the deities that watched over his own world were the same as those which had dominion here. It might simply be a game, moving a piece from one board to another to see what happens, or if they did have some regard for their creations perhaps they hoped to improve the lot of their worshippers without a more visually blatant act of divine intervention.

Striking Joffrey down with a lightning bolt might have been a more just means of dealing with him though, Octavian considered. There was a reason why Tommen was clearly petrified of him, the elder of Cersei’s brood had terrorised his little brother for years.

Even when he thanked Octavian for saving their father’s life the young boy had kept his distance, practically cowering away from him. A few months of not being bullied and tormented for once wasn’t going to make up for years of mental and physical abuse.

As well as being the only girl Myrcella was probably the brightest of Cersei’s three children, at least she was before Joffrey’s consciousness was relocated somewhere, that place ideally being Tartarus in Octavian’s opinion. Although not as scared of her eldest brother as her youngest was she was still wary of him and Octavian often seemed to find her surreptitiously observing him these days as if trying to figure out what was up with him.

There was a lot going on behind the eyes of that pretty face, Octavian thought to himself, one day she’ll either be very useful or a thorn in my side, he decided.

Currently reading another work dealing with the Targaryen dynasty, the book only helped reinforce Octavian’s view that whoever thought that primogeniture in a hereditary monarchy was a good idea was clearly an eldest son who failed to consider that _his_ eldest son might be dumb as a rock or crazy as a bag of weasels. Even when Rome was itself still a monarchy kings didn’t simply inherit the job, by tradition they were endorsed by the Senate, and the mere existence of both that body and also the Curiate Assembly provided some degree of restraint on the monarch.

Westeros was more like Egypt perhaps? A culture and society several millennia old in which largely unchanging customs and traditions from ages past had long held sway, and too much power, money and influence was concentrated among too few people.

Certainly the amount of resources expended in constructing great temples like the Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing put Octavian in mind of the great monuments constructed by the Egyptians, a people who also tended to divert resources to vanity projects that could have been better spent elsewhere. Like the Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor with its towers and massive marble dome was certainly awe-inspiring, but something three quarters the size would have impressed almost as much and you could have used the rest of the money to upgrade the city’s sewer system to something less horrifying.

Cultural inertia was perhaps the problem? The Targaryens had arrived from Essos a few centuries ago but their impact on Westerosi society wasn’t as deep as a cursory glance at the situation might lead you to believe. They might have brought the Seven Kingdom to heel, and constructed a great city to act as their capital, but from the perspective of the small folk their lives were still in the hands of the same old ruling families like the Starks and Martells, and they still worshipped the same gods before and after Aegon came with his dragons.

Likewise the Ptolemies had come to rule Egypt, but although being Greek by background the age old customs and traditions of Egypt had adapted them rather than the reverse. Despite a new capital city in Alexandria, and a new ruling house from another land, Egypt was still Egypt.

The Ptolemies even adopted the Egyptian practice of marrying the heir to the throne to his sister, the Targaryens would be quite at home Octavian thought to himself with a chuckle.

It took a massive upheaval to completely change a society and rewrite its rules, and although Octavian had plenty of ideas, and would wield tremendous power and influence from the Iron Throne one day, he doubted he would be able to do much more than get things on the right track in a single lifetime.

What he really needed was the threat of some kind of impending doom that nobody could ignore and was so awful that both the small-folk and the nobility would fall into line with anything he wanted to do as long as he offered some prospect of saving them.

Unfortunately a few thousand sea-sick Dothraki just weren’t enough of a threat to meet the required criteria.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and the gods will answer my prayers?” Octavian said to himself as he returned to his reading in earnest.

Far to the north in Castle Black the retrieved bodies of some of the Night’s Watch who had been part of First Ranger Benjen Stark’s ill-fated patrol north of the wall awaited examination by Maester Aemon before proper burial the next day.

One of the corpses opened its eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Romans were a superstitious lot and although more skeptical than most by nature Octavian did grow up in that culture. It's fair to say that recent events have made him a little more open to belief in the supernatural!_
> 
> _Before it became a Republic Rome was itself a monarchy, but a rather different one than Westeros. The original[Senate](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Senate_of_the_Roman_Kingdom) and the [Curiate Assembly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legislative_Assemblies_of_the_Roman_Kingdom#Curiate_Assembly) meant that it was far from being a hereditary absolutest monarchy. Seeking better parallels between Westeros and his own world Octavian looks to [Ancient Egypt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_Egypt) and the [Ptolomies](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ptolemaic_dynasty) for example. _
> 
> _The[Great Sept of Baelor](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Sept_of_Baelor) is a huge domed temple to the [Faith of the Seven](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Faith_of_the_Seven) and effectively the Westerosi equivalent of the [Pantheon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pantheon,_Rome) in Rome. _
> 
> _Far from being effected by events in King's Landing far to the south events at the Wall and beyond it are still going much as canon. Since we're now around the point that GoT Episode 1:08[The Pointy End](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/The_Pointy_End) takes place [Jon Snow](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Jon_Snow) is about to meet a [Wight...](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Othor) _


	15. Part XV

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"Let the welfare of the people be the ultimate law"_

**Joffrey Augustus** ("borrowed" from Cicero)

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Whether through a process of delegation, or simply ignoring them, Robert Baratheon had managed to avoid many of the responsibilities usually the remit of a king. Unlike, for example, attending Small Council meetings however there were some things he simply couldn’t always ignore, such as sitting on the Iron Throne to receive delegations and petitions. A ruler had to be seen to rule by his subjects even if other people were really doing most of the work behind the scenes.

Such was the size of the throne-room that even with over a hundred petitioners and others gathered there, not including members of the Kingsguard and the City Watch who were present to keep order if necessary, the chamber seemed almost empty. Before Robert’s reign the bones of long deceased dragons would have filled up some of the empty space but they had been banished to the cellar as soon as he put on the crown, dragons being a little too Targaryen for his tastes.

Since he had the excuse of his still healing ribs he could have actually delegated today’s task to the Hand of the King without too much fuss being made, but it said something for how bored he had become lying in bed that even propping himself up on the Iron Throne for a few hours to listen to nobles and small-folk complain had come as a welcome relief.

Fortunately over the years Robert had developed the ability to look like he was listening intently and diligently to the petitioners while actually thinking about lunch, trusting in Jon Arryn to pay attention for him, and even with Arryn gone both Varys and Littlefinger were adept at surreptitiously signalling when he really _should_ be listening.

In other parts of the realm the local Lord’s Paramount would handle the issues with only local or regional impact themselves, in Robert’s name, but within the Crownlands the king ruled directly so it was up to him to deal with them. This resulted in an awful lot of utter trivia being brought to the attention of the king for him to make judgement upon it but that was one of the prices you had to pay for sitting on the Iron Throne, that along with one of the swords it was made from occasionally taking a small chunk out of you. 

Looking over to where Ned Stark was paying close attention to the latest litany of grievances being brought to the attention of the court, from what Robert could make out some merchant was complaining that the head of a minor house in the Crownlands had repeatedly failed to pay his bills or something, Robert was glad he had chosen his friend to replace Jon Arryn. Having a man he could trust who also took the job seriously was a true blessing, it would keep everyone else on their toes, gave him peace of mind and meant he wouldn’t have to scale back the feasting, whoring and drinking too much… well perhaps less drinking would be a good idea, at least when out hunting anyway.

Cersei had been so angry when she found out about the new will she hadn’t even visibly reacted, at least not beyond directing a death-glare in Ned Stark’s direction every time they were in each other’s presence. Robert had no doubt however that she had ranted and raved to her brother Jaime behind closed doors, and had also likely dispatched several letters to her father Tywin at Casterly Rock seething about the situation, but for his part Tywin was too smart an operator to react quickly before weighing the situation up and he would keep her in check for now.

Someone else paying close attention to proceedings, or at least feigning to exceedingly well, was Joffrey who actually seemed to be taking notes. Well unless he was doodling on that page instead Robert wondered, wishing for a moment he could have brought that book about the Dothraki with him to clandestinely read, perhaps hidden inside the cover of a law book? The chapter about the sack and plunder of Ibbish was a real page-turner, lots of action and gratuitously written violence vividly described.

There should be more books written by adventurers and less written by Maesters, Robert decided as a subtle signal from Varys indicated he should sit up straighter and look like he was weighing up the merits of the arguments of both sides.

Fortunately it was Renly’s job to really make the decision here, that’s what he was paid for, and Robert turned to his brother as if seeking guidance. “Well I know what I think but before I make my judgement what does my Master of Laws have to say?” he asked.

Renly Baratheon looked suitably thoughtful. “Although precedent would seem to go against the merchant I have to say that too many times in the past the rulings have only gone that way because they didn’t have ‘Lord’ or ‘Ser’ in front of their name, not because they weren’t the wronged party” he said. “It’s clear from the testimony of the witnesses, and the evidence presented in terms of documentation, that the merchant is owed the money for goods provided by House Rollingford.”

Robert nodded. “And your thoughts as Hand of the King, Lord Stark?” he turned to address Ned.

“I don’t think that a man should be able to weasel out of his debts just because of who his father is” Ned Stark stated. “And an honourable man wouldn’t have tried to” he added flatly.

“I concur” Robert said, now looking to Baelish. “How long should we give him to settle the bill” he asked.

“A month seems fair” Petyr Baelish suggested.

“A month it is” King Robert agreed. “Pay the man or the crown will pay him instead and I’ll seize lands or property to the same value from House Rollingford to settle the debt” he commanded.

“But Your Grace…” the representative of the house concerned started to protest.

“One more word and I’ll take lands and property worth _more_ than the debt right now, pay the merchant what you owe right away and keep the difference myself” Robert interrupted him mid-sentence. “I sit here to meet out justice for _all_ of my subjects, not just favour the ones with their family history written in a book somewhere” he declared, knowing full well that wasn’t really true in most cases. In reality he needed the support of Lords and Knights more than he did the small-folk, or even middle-class merchants, but it was a good idea to throw the peasants a bone once in a while and backing the man without a stone keep on some lands somewhere occasionally was good for his reputation as a just ruler.

Besides which as direct vassals of the man who sat on the Iron Throne the noble houses of the Crownlands had strongly backed the Targaryen’s during the rebellion, and Robert still enjoyed paying them back occasionally for their unwavering support of the Mad King even after it was plain to _everyone_ that Aerys was a murderous lunatic.

Although it wouldn’t be seemly to get drunk while seated on the throne Robert couldn’t sit there indefinitely without a little something to drink and after what he decided was a suitably long time since he sat down he looked to his squire.

Unfortunately Lancel Lannister was staring off into space and by the time Robert finally got his attention the king was struggling to keep his temper under control. I should have accepted this idiot’s resignation when he offered it, Robert thought to himself angrily when Lancel finally noticed the king looking at him and realised what he wanted.

One thing that you learned from being squire to Robert Baratheon was always keep a supply of wine close-to-hand, and although a wineskin would be unseemly in the throne room, the ornate golden cup Lancel filled for the king from a bottle of Dornish wine kept to one side was suitably regal to pass muster.

Robert took the cup and waved Lancel away with his free hand before raising it to his lips.

Sat making notes Octavian started to consider the legal reforms he would want to bring in as part of his reforms. Cicero might have been a political opponent of his family but it would have been highly entertaining watching the man play his lawyers tricks and wield his master oratory like a sword as he cut down the amateurs here.

Robert coughed, then coughed again more loudly. The wine must have gone down the wrong way, Octavian supposed at first, but the coughing grew louder and louder before the king stood up and dropped his cup.

“Your Grace?” Littlefinger said with alarm as the king started to make noises like he was choking.

“Move!” Ned Stark exclaimed, dashing to Robert’s side just as the king collapsed, lying on his back and clutching at his throat.

Robert began to thrash about, unable to breath, his face starting to go red then purple as a trickle of blood ran from his nose.

Octavian himself arrived at the king’s side shortly before Renly, Robert clutching at them both as Ned cleared out of the way of Robert's family.

Taking the king’s right hand Octavian felt a grip like iron squeeze his own. “I’ll rule well father” he promised as the light went out of Robert’s eyes.

“Poison” Renly said darkly, looking around. “Arrest that man!” he thundered, pointing at Lancel Lannister who was stood frozen like a statue, eyes wide.

Amid the chaos and screaming from the bystanders Ser Barristan Selmy practically crashed into Lancel and took strong hold of him as another of the kingsguard drew his sword and waited for an order to run the squire through. 

“It wasn’t me!” Lancel cried out in panic. “I didn’t poison the king!” he exclaimed as a sword was pressed at his chest. “It was Cersei, not me!” he cried out in panic, “It must have been the Queen!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _George RR Martin isn't the only writer that can suddenly kill off his characters in horrible ways._ :-p


	16. Part XVI

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"I might like the outcome of treason but I have little positive to say of traitors."_

**Joffrey Augustus**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

“Don’t try and be clever Lancel, it’s not your forte” Octavian told the squire who was now chained to a wall in one of the many cells to be found in the Red Keep.

“You said it in front of scores of people” Renly pointed out, looking angry enough to beat Lancel to death personally right then and there. While Eddard Stark was attempting to maintain order in both the Red Keep and the city beyond Renly had taken the job of interrogating Lancel personally, with his young nephew insistent on tagging along. One of the Kingsguard also stood inside the cell, standing ready by the closed door, two more of them guarding it from the outside.

Lancel turned back to Octavian as if looking for a cue on what to say. “When I said I wanted you to tell the truth, not what you think I want you to say, I _meant_ it Lancel” Octavian told him in exasperation.

“Let’s try this again” Renly said after taking a deep breath. “Did you know that the cup contained poison?” he asked.

“No, of course not” Lancel replied honestly.

“So you don’t know what poison was used?” Renly checked.

Lancel shook his head. “No” he confirmed.

“The Maesters will tell us that, and I gave an instruction to have their findings double-checked by the Alchemist’s Guild” Octavian informed Renly before looking back to the squire. “Why did you say that Queen Cersei was responsible?” he wanted to know.

“I… didn’t” Lancel replied awkwardly.

“We were both right there and there were a hundred other witnesses you cretin” Renly retorted.

“Perhaps I misspoke?” Lancel tried again, once more looking to Octavian for prompting on how he should answer.

Octavian narrowed his eyes. “Lancel if you don’t start talking, and talking truthfully, I’m going to get someone to cut off your thumbs” he told him.

Renly raised his eyebrows. “His thumbs?” he queried.

“Improvised torture technique, works well, don’t ask how I know” Octavian explained, at least in part. “I’m willing to believe you didn’t _deliberately_ poison the King, even a complete moron wouldn’t do that personally in the throne-room in front of that many people, and besides which you looked as surprised as anyone else” Octavian told Lancel. “But we need to know why you said the queen was responsible and we need to know now before the situation spirals into chaos.”

Lancel paled. “You’ll kill me” he responded, trembling with fear.

“Maybe we will, maybe we won’t, but I promise that if you _don’t_ talk you’ll die very slowly” Renly vowed. “Don’t think your family’s money and influence can get you out of this because they can’t.”

Lancel looked back to Octavian once again, an imploring expression on his face. “I meant it when I said I’d have somebody cut off your thumbs” Octavian told him honestly, unmoved by any appeal to their supposed familial bond. “Why did you say that Queen Cersei was responsible?” he asked again.

The Kingsguard by the door drew his dagger, the squire’s face blanching even more.

“Because she tried to get me to kill King Robert before” Lancel replied quietly.

Renly and Octavian looked at each other. “Shit” Octavian uncharacteristically swore.

Thirty minutes later Octavian and Renly found Ned Stark in the Small Council Chamber, Lord Varys offering him advice and Petyr Baelish apparently discussing poisons with Grand Maester Pycelle. “This could get even worse” Renly stated, taking his seat as Octavian chose to stand himself, expression extremely grim.

“What did you learn?” Stark asked.

“Lancel didn’t know he was giving my brother poison, someone else must have been responsible for placing it in either the wine or the cup itself, but according to the boy Queen Cersei did attempt to get him to indirectly assassinate Robert on a previous occasion.”

Stark grimaced. “With poison?” he asked.

“No, by getting him very drunk when he went on his last hunting trip, hoping that some kind of accident would see an end to him” Lord Renly replied. “It very nearly worked as I’m sure you all remember.”

“And you believe Lancel?” Baelish inquired.

Renly nodded. “Yes, but assuming Cersei denies the accusation, which any sane person would, it would be his word against hers” he replied.

“Lannister soldiers have fortified the Royal Apartments” Stark told the newcomers. “I hope you don’t mind Lord Renly but I called in reinforcements from the City Watch in your name and put them under the command of Ser Barristan” he told him.

“No objections whatsoever, I’ve also ordered that any Baratheon soldiers in King’s Landing be made ready to support the Kingsguard myself anyway” Renly announced.

Octavian frowned. “You might find that not all of the Kingsguard and City Watch are entirely reliable in a situation where they might potentially face off against Lannister troops” he said. “Thanks to the deep pockets of my grandfather Tywin my mother’s influence is extensive unfortunately” he explain regretfully.

“This must be awkward for you, Your Grace” Varys addressed Joffrey in a sympathetic tone. “Divided family loyalties I mean.”

“My house name is _Baratheon_ not Lannister, Lord Varys” Octavian replied curtly. “But in any case whether or not my mother did, or did not, plot my father’s death on a previous occasion I would be astonished if she was responsible for his _actual_ assassination earlier today” he stated.

“Why?” Ned Stark queried.

“Because she wouldn’t have been stupid enough to get Lancel to hand the king the poison given the likelihood he would implicate her immediately” Octavian explained. “If somebody else wanted the Lannister family blamed, and the queen in particular if they knew of the previous plot, then that’s what they would do” he said, crossing his arms in front of him.

Varys smiled. “I would have to agree” he said. “For my part I have already heard whispers that Cersei is blaming the death on King Robert on you Lord Stark” he announced.

“Me?” Stark responded nonplussed.

“Under the terms of King Robert’s recent will you are now effectively the ruler of Westeros, at least until Joffrey comes of age” Varys explained. “Before that happens, your daughter will already be wed to King Joffrey and thus you can continue to be the power behind the throne through her.”

“To be fair, as regards your daughter Lord Stark, it’s what Tywin sought to do himself through Cersei” Baelish pointed out.

“A scheme which failed miserably because my parents couldn’t stand each other” Octavian wryly observed. “I didn’t think she would try and kill him though, simply outliving him to see me on the throne would have been enough I thought” he said, arms still crossed. “For the record Lord Stark, while I doubt my mother poisoned my father I still think that’s more likely than _you_ having done it.”

“Whether Cersei did it or not, and I’m not quite so quick to remove her from the top of the list of suspects as my nephew is, she still tried to kill my brother before and justice demands a quick response and firm resolve” Renly insisted.

“We have no proof beyond Lancel’s word and if she demands her name be cleared in a trial by combat where does that leave us?” Octavian asked rhetorically. “If she picked my Uncle Jamie as her champion, or even Ser Gregor Glegane as a sworn Lannister vassal, how many knights would enter that fight confident of still being alive at the end?”

“Not many these days, perhaps Ser Barristan ten or more years ago, or the late Ser Arthur Dayne in the past, but not today” Ned Stark responded, Renly reluctantly nodding his agreement.

Varys pursed his lips. “Lord Renly raised an interesting point as regards the list of suspects” he said. “Putting aside Queen Cersei for now, and the laughable notion of Lord Stark’s guilt, who else might have sought the death of King Robert, especially in a manner that implicates the Lannisters?” he asked.

“Targaryen loyalists” Octavian suggested. “They would not only hate my father for leading the rebellion but also the Lannister family for switching sides” he said. “Moreover if they seek to return to power driving a wedge between the Baratheons and Lannisters would serve their cause well.”

“The Martell’s aren’t exactly on good terms with either house and the Dornish do have a reputation of a fondness for using poisons,” Petyr Baelish suggested, “particularly Oberyn who swore vengeance for the death of his sister and her children” he said.

Octavian frowned. “Dorne sided with the Targaryens to the end” he noted. “If Viserys could land his Dothraki army in Dorne unopposed, gaining local logistical support plus infantry to aid his cavalry army that would be very bad, particularly if the other kingdoms were at each other’s throats already” he said. “Of course that is merely wild speculation on my part” he admitted.

“Disquieting speculation however” Grand Maester Pycelle observed.

Renly leaned forward in his chair, hands meshed together on the table in front of him. “I can think of a few husbands with less than faithful wives, before or after marriage, that might have wanted Robert dead but I can’t see any of them going through with it” he said.

“I’m a suspect too of course” Octavian announced dispassionately. “Based on motive I _did_ inherit my father’s crown” he reminded the Small Council.

“I’m going to assume you aren’t about to admit guilt, Your Grace” Baelish responded, unable to resist a smile.

“No, but then I wouldn’t even if I _was_ guilty” Octavian replied. “Do we know what poison was used yet?” he asked.

“Not for certain as yet, but based on the description my assumption would be that it was a poison known as “The Strangler” that is rare but known to be used by several groups including the Faceless Men of Braavos” Grand Maester Pycelle spoke up, not mentioning that the Maesters used it as well.

“Assassins that will work for anybody with the money to pay them” Ned Stark observed with distaste.

Something else was bothering Renly. “Forgive me for asking this, but as Robert’s brother I must” he said, addressing his nephew. “Why did you tell him that you would rule well when he was dying rather than vowing vengeance on whoever slayed him?” he wanted to know.

“You’re not taking the idea that Joffrey murdered his father seriously are you?” Ned Stark queried.

“No, but for my own piece of mind it did seem an odd thing to say” Renly replied honestly.

Octavian sighed. “Because Uncle Renly, a sincere promise made to a dying man must always be kept and since I didn’t know who killed him at the time, still don’t for certain, and conceivably never will, I couldn’t honestly make that vow” he explained. “Ruling well is something is a promise I _can_ keep, and it’s something my father would want me to do, so I _will_ rule the Seven Kingdoms well” he declared.

“Well said, Your Grace” Grand Maester Pycelle praised him.

“If I might interject we may have drifted off the subject at hand” Varys observed. “What do we do as regards Lancel Lannister and the accusation he made against the queen?”

“As long as he is kept alive and secure Lancel is leverage against my mother, for the good of the realm we should use that leverage to get her away from the Red Keep back to Casterly Rock where she can’t cause any trouble” Octavian advised. “Or at least only cause less trouble” he corrected himself. “Half of King’s Landing will have heard the story that she had my father killed by now, whether it’s believed or not, so persuading her she should seek safety in the Westerlands shouldn’t be a hard sell.”

Ned Stark regarded the boy curiously. “You talk of banishing your mother very easily” he remarked in surprise. “Especially if you don’t believe she poisoned Robert” he added. Stark had thought them closer than this.

“She’ll be safer in Casterly Rock and the whole of Westeros will be safer with her there too, less chance of friction between Lannister and Baratheon vassals and supporters triggering large scale violence” Octavian responded. “I can contact my grandfather by raven and ask him to help persuade her to leave gracefully without making too much of a fuss.”

“Without making too much of a fuss?” Renly repeated, rolling his eyes. “Have you _met_ your mother?” he asked sardonically. “If she really believes Lord Stark is responsible for my brother’s death, or even if she doesn’t and it’s only attempted misdirection to steer blame away from herself, she will _definitely_ make a fuss” he declared.

Ned Stark nodded. “Just as long as we can get her out of here without triggering a Civil War in the process” he said before looking to the new king of Westeros. “Putting the politics aside are you alright?” he asked. “You haven’t had the chance to mourn your father” he continued. “I was full-grown when I lost mine and it still cut deep” he told the boy.

“If we manage to get through the next week without the Seven Kingdoms fracturing into a maelstrom of rival factions, recriminations and conspiracy theories heading for the Civil War you fear I’ll mourn him then” Octavian replied evenly.

He’s taking on too much responsibility for a lad his age, Ned Stark thought to himself sadly, but he’s already more mature than Robert ever was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _The[Alchemist's Guild](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Alchemists%27_Guild) are rivals of a sort to the [Maesters](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Maesters) and the other organisation in Westeros with a scientific background. Since Octavian doesn't trust anybody he wants the Maester's findings double-checked. _
> 
> _The[Strangler](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Strangler) was the poison used to kill Joffrey in GoT episode 4.02 [The Lion and the Rose](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/The_Lion_and_the_Rose). _


	17. Part XVII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"We've had a 'King Baelor the Blessed' and a 'King Jaehaerys the Wise' but for all my attempts at popularising it 'King Joffrey the Unusually Competent' hasn't caught on yet."_

**The Wit and Wisdom of Tyrion Lannister - 325 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

“This is not a debate mother, this is simply the way things are” Octavian told Cersei firmly. “As soon as the funeral feast begins you are to quietly slip away and head to Casterly Rock escorted by Uncle Jaime and half the Lannister soldiers in King’s Landing” he said. “And once you are there you will stay there until I say otherwise” he ordered before turning his back on her and facing Jaime Lannister. “If you have to, tie her up and throw her in her carriage next to my brother and sister.”

“Duck!” Jaime said loudly, Octavian doing so just as a cushion flew over his head. “You can tell she loves you” Jaime observed wryly as the boy resisted the urge to retaliate for the projectile verbally. “It wasn’t something heavy or sharp.”

“It’s a long journey, try and talk some sense into her on the way would you?” Octavian requested.

“Father tried that for years, I mostly gave up on that when we were still children” Jaime replied apologetically with a shrug.

“If she stays here some Baratheon loyalist that believes Lancel’s story, or somebody else trying to sow discord, will make an attempt on her life” Octavian told him, flinching as a bottle flung against a wall smashed behind him. “She’s safer in the Westerlands and so are my brother and sister for now.”

“And it’ll be easier for you and the new Lord Regent Eddard Stark to run things smoothly without her being here as well” Jaime observed knowingly.

“So _much_ easier” Octavian had to agree with a sigh, wincing as Cersei practically howled in rage behind him and apparently overturned a table judging by the loud crash and the sound of crockery breaking on the floor. Despite a letter from Lord Tywin ordering Cersei to obey the instruction to return to Casterly Rock, and over an hour of well-argued and increasingly less gentle persuasion from himself culminating in an ultimatum that if she didn’t go willingly she would go in chains, Cersei was still livid almost to the point of being unable to string a coherent sentence together.

“How in the name of the Old Gods and the New could I have raised such an ingrate?” Cersei complained. “To cast me out after all I did for you?”

Ah so they were back to accusations of ingratitude then, Octavian thought to himself. Cersei must have run out of attempted methods of emotional blackmail if she was repeating herself already. Since crying, pleading, rage, something that might best be described as “screeching”, and references to the pain of childbirth had failed she had returned to that.

One advantage to being raised by Atia of the Julii was that it all rolled over Octavian like water off a duck’s back.

“Mother you’re going back home to grandfather, you’re not being banished to the jungles of Sothoryos” Octavian responded calmly, still keeping his back to her.

“It’s that little Stark bitch isn’t it?” Cersei declared. “She seduced you at her father’s behest, the redheaded slut’s been spreading her legs for you ever since you became betrothed hasn’t she?”

Now _that_ was too much, not only was Sansa a good, decent respectable girl of high virtue, Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion. “No she has not!” Octavian responded angrily, turning back towards Cersei. “And if you ever say that again, to me or anyone else, then you can look forward to never setting foot in King’s Landing again” he vowed, directing a withering look at her that she found herself unable to meet.

“Why else would you accept Ned Stark ruling the Seven Kingdoms?” Cersei wanted to know, her tone rather more subdued now however.

“I already explained several times and I’m not repeating myself again just because you don’t want to listen” Octavian told her firmly. “You are my mother but I am no longer your child and I only explain myself out of courtesy, not out of necessity” he said. “The fact you can’t put your feelings aside and conduct yourself in a calm and rational manner only strengthens the case for keeping you away from an already precarious political situation.”

“You’re too young and inexperienced to understand” Cersei told him.

“No mother, the truth is that you’re not as smart as you think you are and you also lack the self-awareness to realise how badly your emotions cloud your judgement” Octavian replied harshly. “The two flaws in one person would be a recipe for utter disaster even if you _hadn’t_ somehow come to erroneously believe you were a master of manipulation.”

Jamie was trying to keep a straight face. “Why am I reminded so much of father’s lecturing right now?” he remarked, regretting it immediately when his sister delivered a glare at him that would cut through Valyrian Steel.

Octavian took a deep breath to collect himself. “Just don’t get any ideas about having Lancel killed, it would only be throwing wildfire on the flames when I’m doing my very best to smother them” he said, before pulling the door open stepping through and slamming it closed again behind him.

Tyrion was still waiting in the adjoining room where Octavian had left him an hour ago before confronting Cersei. The dwarf had a glass of wine in his hand and was wearing an amused expression. “It is indeed a great pity that you can choose your friends but not your family” he observed.

“I suppose you heard most of that” Octavian queried.

“It’s a good thing the walls are so thick or most of the Red Keep would have heard most of that” Tyrion replied only half in jest. “Do you still want me to take Tommen and Myrcella to go see King Robert lying in state in the Great Sept later before the public are allowed to pay their respects?”

“Yes, they like you” Octavian confirmed. “In different circumstances their mother would take them there but…”

“Since a fair proportion of the population thinks she had the king murdered it wouldn’t be a good idea to give them the opportunity to say she was only there to gloat” Tyrion finished for him. “Why don’t _you_ take them?” he asked.

Octavian sighed. “Because with some justification they _don’t_ like _me_ ” he replied sadly. It was strange that even though never much of a people person himself he simply couldn’t imagine ever being as cruel and mean-spirited to his own sister Octavia as Joffrey had been to his siblings. “I already went to the Great Sept myself, the Silent Sisters did a good job at making the body presentable so they shouldn’t be too upset at seeing it I hope.”

“I heard that Robert didn’t want to be laid to rest there permanently” Tyrion inquired.

“Not among all those dead Targaryen kings no” Octavian confirmed. “The day after the funeral feast Renly is escorting his remains home to Storm’s End so he can be with his own ancestors.”

“I’m sure that both he and the Targaryen’s would much prefer that arrangement” Tyrion responded with a gentle smile which was soon replaced by a more serious expression. “If you need someone to talk to as a son mourning his father, not the man who just inherited the Iron Throne, let me know and I’ll be there” he offered. “Incidentally, in case you find yourself reaching for a bottle at some point, wine isn’t a permanent solution for any of life’s problems” he continued. “Unless you never stop drinking, in which case you’ve only swapped one problem for another” he said from personal experience.

Octavian smiled himself then turned to look at the door which led back to where Cersei was. “She’ll never forgive me for not letting her be here for my coronation” he said, frowning.

“Probably not, she is one to hold onto a grudge” Tyrion agreed. “But just for the record I’ll never forgive you for not being the one that got to tell her” he complained. “It would have been so sweet seeing the expression on her face” he said longingly.

Imagining Cersei picking her little brother up and bodily throwing him out of the nearest window Octavian was glad he had chosen to tell her himself since even in a world of magic and dragons it was unlikely the little man could fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _The[Great Sept of Baelor](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Sept_of_Baelor) is where kings are laid out and in most cases later entombed. King Robert wanted to sit out eternity back home in [Storm's End](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Storm%27s_End) among his own ancestors rather than a bunch of dead Targaryens. _
> 
> _Sending Cersei back to[Casterly Rock](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Casterly_Rock) is the best thing Octavian could have done, not only for her safety and the good of the Seven Kingdom's but for his own sanity! _
> 
> _The[Silent Sisters](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Silent_sisters) are the order that worship the [Stranger](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Stranger_\(the_Seven\)) and prepare the dead for funeral. _


	18. Part XVIII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"A king that will only get you and your men killed for a good reason is a king you should follow."_

**Legate-General Ser Beric Dondarrion - 310 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

“Good Afternoon, Your Grace” Lord Varys greeted Octavian as he entered the Small Council Chamber. “I trust you have fully recovered from the malady that struck you yesterday?” he asked, smiling.

“Yes” Octavian confirmed. “The tonic Grand Maester Pycelle prescribed worked wonders” he noted, offering a nod of thanks to the older man who was sat beside Varys.

“First hangover was it?” Lord Petyr Baelish asked, trying and failing not to sound too amused.

Octavian sighed as he sat down in the chair next to the one Eddard Stark would soon take at the head of the table. “No, but it was by far the worst” he replied as the Lord Regent arrived looking as harried as ever.

“Your Grace” Ned Stark greeted Octavian with a bow before sitting down.

“Lord Regent” Octavian returned the formality. 

“How’s the head?” Stark checked as he sat down.

“My skull feels the correct size for the brain within it unlike yesterday” Octavian replied. “Why I listened to Thoros of Myr when he persuaded me my father would expect me to drink that much wine at his funeral feast I’ll never know.”

“That’s likely because you had already put away enough for your judgement to be impaired” Varys surmised.

Octavian grimaced. “I’m never getting drunk again” he vowed.

“Yes I’ve promised myself that a few times” Baelish recalled with a chuckle.

“You’re not the only one” Ned Stark added for himself.

Octavian frowned. “How did my father drink as much as he did every day and still function?” he wanted to know. 

“Dedication I would say” Varys suggested, not saying whether that meant dedication to the drinking or his job as king, probably the former if he was being genuine. “With Lord Renly absent escorting King Robert’s mortal remains to his ancestral home shall we begin with formal business?” he asked.

Ned Stark shook his head. “Not yet, Ser Barristan will be along any moment” he told the room.

“Ah, so will the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard be attending the Small Council again as per the tradition before King Robert’s reign?” Varys asked.

“He will” Stark confirmed.

“Good. Good” Pycelle responded always one to favour tradition and cite precedent.

“If nothing else it’ll help fill up the empty seats, what with both Lord Renly on his way to Storm’s End and his brother Lord Stannis still back at Dragonstone” Baelish observed. “We are quite bereft of Baratheons” he joked.

“Not quite Lord Baelish” Octavian corrected him, indicating himself.

“Ah, of course” Baelish replied apologetically. “Less Lannisters in the Red Keep now too as well, what with Queen Cersei and her brother Jaime on the way to Casterly Rock” he noted. “Will Ser Jaime be returning with the escorting troops once they arrive at their destination?” he inquired.

“The plan is that Ser Jaime and the Lannister soldiers who previously guarded Queen Cersei here at the Red Keep will remain at her side for now to help protect her and the children” Ned Stark told him. 

“The Royal Apartments must seem quite deserted” Varys remarked.

“Yes which is why one of the cost-saving measures I have proposed to the Lord Regent is a major reduction in staff as well as cuts in unnecessary expenditure” Octavian announced. “Less wasting money on luxuries and fewer servants won’t make a great impact on our budgetary deficit but it’s a small step in the right direction” he said. 

Ned Stark nodded. “I’m sure we can all find similar savings if we trim the fat a little” he suggested, Pycelle, Varys and Baelish looking either unsure or perhaps unwilling to do so, although none chose to comment. “As for myself, although my new title and responsibilities would normally warrant an increased salary, I’m not taking one.”

“Very commendable Lord Stark” Pycelle responded, inwardly cursing because that would surely mean nobody else would get a pay increase for the foreseeable future either.

“Incidentally, since you now hold the position of Lord Regent, who will be the new Hand?” Petyr Baelish asked.

“I intend to ask Lord Tywin Lannister to take on that role given his prior experience” Ned Stark replied. Tywin always had an agenda but with his own grandson on the Iron Throne the main part of that agenda would be keeping the Seven Kingdoms united, prosperous and stable. “Given that it may be a while until Queen Cersei, Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella are settled and secure in Casterly rock, enabling Lord Tywin to relocate to King’s Landing, I will likely appoint an acting Hand with his agreement.”

“Any idea who that might be?” Varys queried.

“Not as yet, I plan to discuss that with Lord Tywin” Stark replied. “Since Ser Barristan is still delayed I suppose I may as well informally announce another new appointment” he decided. “With the agreement of Lord Renly as Master of Laws the City Watch is getting a new commander.”

“Oh really? Who?” Varys asked curiously, not that anyone could be as corrupt and inept as the current commander Janos Slynt.

“Me” Octavian told him brightly.

Petyr Baelish raised his eyebrows. “If you’ll forgive me asking, is it really a suitable job for a king and why would you want the job anyway?” he asked in surprise.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen once commanded the City Watch, so I wouldn’t be the first royal to do so, but since the actual business of running the Seven Kingdoms falls to the Lord Regent until I come of age I think I need something to do in the meantime” Octavian replied. “Why not that?” he asked rhetorically.

The Master of Coin considered the notion. If the annoying little smart-arse wanted to play soldiers with that rabble at least it would keep him out of my hair, Baelish reasoned. “Any plans on what you want to do with them first?” he asked.

“Not as yet” Octavian lied, in fact he had a whole list of things to do once the City Watch was under his control, including better training and a purge of corrupt, inept and unfit personnel.

When the door to the Small Council chamber opened after being knocked Eddard Stark expected to see Ser Barristan enter but instead the Royal Steward stood there with a grave expression. “What is it?” Stark asked.

“News from Dragonstone, Lord Regent” the steward began then paused looking extremely nervous.

“Well spit it out man” Stark ordered him impatiently.

The Royal Steward swallowed. “Lord Stannis has issued a declaration that the children of Queen Cersei are not the legitimate heirs to King Robert.”

“In what way?” Varys queried. “I attended their wedding as did hundreds of others.”

“Lord Stannis is claiming that all of Queen Cersei’s children were the result of King Robert being cuckolded…” the Stewart paused again and visibly winced. “By the Queen’s own brother Ser Jaime Lannister.”

The room fell silent, Octavian realising that suddenly everyone was looking at him.

“Did the man who would coincidentally be next in line to the throne if my siblings and I were removed from the line of succession, offer any proof for this vile accusation, or say why he waited until my father was dead to make it?” Octavian snarled through gritted teeth.

“No Your Grace, not as yet” the Royal Steward replied.

“Well how _fucking_ convenient!” Octavian exclaimed loudly, kicking his chair backwards as he sprang to his feet and crashed his clenched fists down on the table.

“Also, he’s claimed the Iron Throne” the Royal Steward added even more nervously.

“What a surprise” Octavian responded with all the sarcasm in his tone he could muster. “Let’s hope that most of the population aren’t gullible enough to buy this shit or we’ll be fighting a civil war that’ll haemorrhage money we haven’t got and cost the lives of men who didn’t have to die.”

“Indeed, Your Grace” Varys agreed, though he noted that Lord Stark had yet to say anything himself. 

Octavian visibly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No” he said in a more calm and collected tone. “I am _not_ going to do this to my people” he continued. “Tell Stannis that I am going to postpone my coronation and call a Great Council to decide the issue of who gets to sit on the Iron Throne.”

Petyr Baelish made an involuntary choking noise. “A Great Council?” he repeated in astonishment.

“It’s been done before when the inheritance of the crown is unclear, if Stannis can _prove_ I’m some kind of incestuous abomination and convince the Great Houses to put him on the Iron Throne instead of me then I’ll stand aside rather than fight a Civil War” Octavian declared before turning away from the table and heading to the nearest window to look down on King’s Landing. “I don’t want to see this city burn” he said quietly.

As the Small Council and the Royal Steward stared at his back in amazement Octavian allowed himself an unseen smile. Always have a plan, he thought to himself smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Prince[Daemon Targaryen](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Daemon_Targaryen) commanded the [City Watch](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/City_Watch_of_King%27s_Landing) so it isn't unprecedented for royalty to do so. _
> 
> _Calling a[Great Council](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Council) to decide the succession isn't unprecedented. Beyond the problem of how do you actually prove Joffrey is a bastard born of incest Octavian has the other advantage that Stannis is really unpopular. _


	19. Part XIX

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."_

**Cersei Lannister 298AL**

 

_"Bloodshed is not a integral part of all political maneuvering mother."_

**Joffrey Baratheon 298AL**

 

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**Storm’s End – The Stormlands – 298AL**

Officially Ser Loras Tyrell had originally travelled to Storm’s End from Highgarden to witness the laying to rest of King Robert, but to those better informed the intended laying involved was joked to be that of Robert’s youngest brother. Regardless of the truth either way Loras had been at Storm’s End when Stannis issued his declaration of Joffrey’s incestuous illegitimacy and his own claim to the Iron Throne and had remained there for the next few days, keeping in touch with Highgarden via Raven.

Friends and semi-secret lovers for a number of years, Loras and Renly had originally planned to try and oust Cersei from the royal family and arrange for Margaery Tyrell, sister of Loras, to marry Robert Baratheon in her place. Changing events however, not the least of which was Robert’s demise of course, had entirely stymied that scheme and now with the future of the Seven Kingdom’s at stake they wondered what to do next.

If the accusations made by Stannis were true then Renly’s remaining older brother was the rightful ruler of Westeros but Stannis lacked support even among many of his own vassals let alone the Seven Kingdoms at large, and moreover as for Renly he just couldn’t stand the man.

If the situation had been different Renly might have even made his own claim on the throne, relying on the Stormlands and his Tyrell allies in the Reach to provide an army to force his will on the rest of Westeros. Given that the Westerlands would undoubtedly back Joffrey, and likely the North, the Riverlands and perhaps also the Vale would oppose any attempt to seize the throne by armed might, particularly by a younger brother that wouldn’t have a legal claim to the crown anyway, that option was off the table.

Joffrey calling for a Great Council to decide the succession had been a political master-stroke, one that Stannis had badly misplayed in his response as was obvious from all the raven messages now flying around between the Great Houses. Not all that long ago both Renly and Loras would have considered Joffrey a dullard, and even a monster, but you _had_ to admire the way the little son-of-a-bitch was playing the game.

Loras chuckled as he read the latest letter sent out from Joffrey in the Red Keep. “I don’t know whether Stannis would have been better off keeping quiet because the way this tears apart his supposed evidence in that declaration he issues after the Great Council was announced makes him look like a complete imbecile” he opined, handing the letter back to Renly who had read it first.

“Perhaps, but imagine if he had presented it in front of the Great Council and then had it eviscerated to his face in front of everyone” Renly replied, reading through the letter again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen scorn and sarcasm transferred so well from pen to paper” he said with admiration. “Particularly as regards the notion that it was somehow suspicious that a person of Lannister blood might be blond, and children having a different hair colour than their father was an indication their mother was cuckolding him with her brother.”

“Yes, I think it was the suggestion that perhaps the new Regent and Protector of the Realm should get a divorce because most of Lord Stark’s children look more like their mother than they do him, proving adultery on Stannis’s logic, which really sold that passage” Loras agreed.

“Personally I thought it was the really scathing tongue-in-cheek part about my niece Shireen having lighter hair than Stannis, and it also being odd that she isn’t going bald like her supposed father that was truly hilarious” Renly told him, laughing. “It’s the sheer level of derision that’ll have my brother grinding his teeth, trust me” he said.

“Do you think it’s true about Cersei and Jaime?” Loras asked.

“Who can know for certain except them and it’s not like anyone would admit incest” Renly replied. “There might be a few people that can ignore the teachings of the Faith of the Seven as regards relationships like ours, but even for the open-minded fucking your own brother or sister is hardly something you’re likely to mention to people, or even divulge if asked under oath.”

Loras grinned. “Well like Cersei my own sister is very pretty” he said, “but even if I preferred the company of girls I can’t see myself doing it Targaryan style, or especially telling anyone if I did, so you’ve got a point” he conceded. “Stannis did also write that Jon Arryn’s investigation on his behalf showed that all of Robert’s bastards have dark hair though, so even ignoring incest the possibility of adultery remains.”

Renly shrugged. “Who can know if they’re really Robert’s bastards and even if they are none of them were with Lannister stock” he said. “Even if Arryn’s last words were ‘The Seed is Strong’ that works equally well both ways, just like Joffrey said in his response to Stannis quoting the man” he continued. “Saying that the handful of Baratheon and Lannister unions which ever happened produced children that were dark of hair isn’t all that persuasive when compared to all the marriages between Lannisters and dark haired men and women of other houses that produced blond children.”

“You don’t think Jon Arryn’s death was murder?” Loras queried.

“Whether it was or not who knows who did it or why?” Renly asked rhetorically. “The man was Hand of the King, he likely had plenty of enemies” he said. “There just isn’t any conclusive evidence and if anything Stannis’s timing of waiting until Robert’s death to issue his declaration makes _him_ look suspicious.”

Loras raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think Stannis killed Robert do you?” he asked.

“No, but I’m sure people will start rumours to that effect, even if they don’t believe it themselves” Renly responded. “The man just isn’t popular, all those men he clashed with in the past, all the friction his personality caused with others, it’s all going to come back and bite him on the arse now.”

“My father certainly isn’t a fan and I’m sure the feeling is mutual” Loras observed. “I think you can rely on him to support anyone that isn’t Stannis at the Great Council once the date is set” he said, seeking to perhaps prompt Renly into putting himself forward as a possible candidate for the Iron Throne. “Also, Great Council or no he’s starting to call on his bannermen once news reached us that Stannis had already called up his own troops.”

Renly nodded. “Tywin Lannister is mobilising his forces as well, even though he has publically endorsed the calling of a Great Council” he told Loras. “Chances are all the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands are preparing for a war breaking out.”

“If Stannis has an edge through already preparing for war and raising an army first he might not want to throw that away by letting everyone else catch up while we wait for the Great Council to form and make a decision” Loras suggested.

“Yes, particularly if he’s got enough sense to realise that even if he believes his accusations are true, Gods, even if they are true, that doesn’t mean a decision will go his way” Renly replied. “If he does realise that then he might choose to fight and I can’t see that turning out much better for him anyway” he said then sighed. “The only thing I can say for certain is that Stannis won’t back down, it’s not in him.”

“So whose side do we pick?” Loras asked.

“Ours as always” Renly replied, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _[Storm's End](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Storm%27s_End) is the seat of House Baratheon in the [Stormlands](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Stormlands). [Loras Tyrell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Loras_Tyrell) is the son of [Mace Tyrell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Mace_Tyrell) of the [Reach](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Reach). _


	20. Part XX

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"If I have played my part well, clap your hands, and dismiss me with applause from the stage"_

**Joffrey Augustus**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Wearing the gold cloaked uniform of the City Watch Octavian stood on the battlements of the keep looking out across Blackwater Bay, the body of water King’s Landing stood upon. Beside him, stood on a box so he could also see over the top of the wall, Tyrion held a cup of wine and slowly sipped from it. “An impressive sight the Royal Fleet” the dwarf observed. “Pity that it comes here under the command of Stannis” he added wryly.

“And who else should command the fleet than the Master-of-Ships?” Octavian responded, his face impassive.

“Well ideally somebody that doesn’t want your crown, and probably your head beneath it too” Tyrion replied.

Octavian allowed himself a hint of a smile. “Stannis merely proves himself no great philosopher if he thinks such a show of strength does more than indicate his actual weakness” he remarked. “Lord Stark may have granted him the right to bring his forces here in order to balance the City Watch under my command but not only doesn’t he have nearly enough to overwhelm the garrison, it shows a lack of trust in Lord Stark’s word that he would have safe passage and a guarantee of personal security” he said. “Also several of the Great Houses will choose to see the presence of the fleet here, and Stannis’s army embarked upon it, as intended to threaten them to vote in his favour.”

“They might think the same about the City Watch you know” Tyrion pointed out, reaching out with his free hand to tug on his nephew’s gold cloak.

“The City Watch is regarded as a joke, nothing more than toy soldiers who do little more than take bribes and break up tavern brawls” Octavian responded. “Even people that don’t like him regard Stannis’s military prowess highly and know his men are experienced, well drilled and properly equipped” he continued. “Far more intimidating and likely to raise their ire and suspicions than a teenage boy with a yellow blanket hung over his shoulders.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “Do you spend all your time calculating like this?” he inquired, genuinely intrigued.

“No, just enough to make sure I’m always a few steps ahead” Octavian replied. “The Great Council should be forming now, shall we go face Stannis in the battlefield of _my_ choosing not his?” he asked, confident in his abilities.

“Oh, Gregor Glegane himself couldn’t stop me from being there to watch” Tyrion replied, downing the last of his wine.

Trying to stick to precedent for the sake of legality Eddard Stark as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm had suggested two places in which to hold the Great Council, the other being Harrenhal which hosted the Great Council of 101 AL. Because Harrenhall was land-locked however Stannis had rejected that location outright, not wishing to have to leave his fleet behind, and thus it was that all the Great Houses of Westeros had sent representatives to the capital in order to decide who the next king of Westeros would be.

Oddly enough to some, of the Seven Kingdoms the one that took the process most seriously and sent nearly the largest delegation was the Iron Islands, with not only Balon Greyjoy arriving early but also bringing his daughter Yara and his brother Victarion, as well as representatives of the other houses of his fiefdom. Although the islanders stubbornly kept to their own traditions, and looked down upon the ways of others, among those traditions was the Kingsmoot, a gathering much akin to a Great Council in which in earlier times kings of the Iron Islands would be chosen. In fact Balon himself had issued a statement that regardless of the outcome of the Great Council the Iron Islands would go to war with the loser if they refused to accept the will of the majority. They didn’t care if Stannis or Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, they only cared that the Kingsmoot of 298AL as they insisted on calling it was respected.

With Doran Martell the Prince of Dorne considering himself unfit to travel he had dispatched his brother Oberyn to lead their own delegation. Their votes considered a true wildcard because of their stubborn tradition of independence and their grudge against both the Baratheon and Lannister Houses nobody knew how they might lean, or whether they might simply choose to cast their votes in the way that would cause the most trouble for everyone else. 

House Tyrell from the Reach would probably vote with whoever looked most likely to win, but if that looked like being Stannis they would be very unhappy about it. Mace Tyrell and Stannis were old foes politically and militarily and even if Stannis won with their vote it would be unlikely that he would reward them. Due to the fractious nature of politics and inter-house rivalries within the Reach it wasn’t even known if they would all vote the same way however, unlike the Northern and Riverland houses who were thought all certain to vote whichever way the Starks and Tullys did.

Presenting their cases before the gathered dignitaries in the throne room, Eddard Stark presiding from the Iron Throne while his eldest son Rob acted in his stead as chief representative of the North, it didn’t take long for everyone to realise that Stannis was badly outclassed as a speaker and rhetorician by the boy he claimed was not his nephew but who maintained he was. Having already cast extreme doubt on the supposed proof of bastardy based on his hair-colour and lineage Octavian went on to slash through each of Stannis’s arguments with a mix of logic, persuasion and a biting sarcastic wit that forced Ned Stark to chide the Great Council for breaking out into laughter on several occasions as Stannis Baratheon seethed from his chair.

“If I thought that bringing my mother back here from Casterly Rock and her swearing under oath that the allegations made by Lord Stannis were false would persuade him I would of course have asked my grandfather Lord Tywin to bring her along” Octavian told the Great Council, “but somehow I doubt he would accept her word on the matter so it’s rather a moot point” he said, stood in front of the Iron Throne looking back towards them. “Unless I’m wrong and you _would_ accept her word?” he asked Stannis, who had retaken his chair after his latest diatribe.

“Why would I accept the word of a scheming, incestuous adulteress?” Stannis responded with a scowl.

“Then why ask her in the first place?” Octavian asked rhetorically. “You were complaining about her not being here to answer your accusation in person and insisting she travel here from the Westerlands to do so just minutes ago” he said, turning to the audience with an exaggerated incredulous expression on his face provoking a smattering of laughter, including some from Oberyn Martell who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

“You’re twisting my words” Stannis complained.

“I think it’s more your thought processes that are twisted rather than my words, if you want a witness statement from a witness you wouldn’t believe and couldn’t prove was lying even if they were” Octavian retorted. “If you want to waste people’s time why not get them to keep digging holes and filling them back in again, at least it would be good exercise?” he suggested, rolling his eyes before shaking his head sadly and giving the audience a knowing look.

“This is a Great Council, not a mummer’s performance, less theatrics please” Ned Stark requested.

“I apologise to both the Council and the Regent for so openly seeing the inadvertent humour in my opponent’s position” Octavian responded, taking the reprimand but doing so in a less than total fashion. “Returning for now to the dubious suggestion that a person with Lannister blood having fair haired children is somehow unusual or indeed evidence of infidelity I would like to remind many in the hall, and perhaps inform others, that I was not in fact the first child born by Cersei Lannister but rather the second” he said, looking around and noting a few surprised looks in the crowd. “My older brother died in extreme infancy before his first name-day and was, you might be interested to hear, dark haired” he announced, causing a great deal of muttering to ripple around the hall.

Octavian nodded for effect. “Yes, while it is true that my surviving brother, and also our only sister, inherited the blond locks of the Lannister family from our mother, one of the four children born to King Robert by his wife Queen Cersei had hair like yours Uncle Stannis” he noted. “Perhaps even more dark hair than you these days despite being a new-born” he added, trying to keep a straight face as Eddard Stark made a disapproving sound behind him.

“That just means _one_ of her children was Robert’s, not all of them” Stannis countered.

“Possibly, but children can take after either parent randomly, as clearly evidenced by anyone in this hall by comparing the hair and features of Lord Eddard Stark, his eldest son sat over there and his youngest daughter who is trying desperately not to be noticed lurking over yonder” Octavian said, pointing out Arya who tried to dive behind a courtier.

“Arya get back to your room!” Ned Stark ordered curtly, glaring at his son Rob who had started to laugh.

“I’m sure that a great proportion of the men in this room with multiple children have sons and daughters that favour their wives, as well as others that favour them,” Octavian continued his train of thought, “and think very little of it because that’s perfectly normal.”

“There are no blond Baratheon children” Stannis declared loudly.

“No, there are _three_ blond Baratheon children Uncle Stannis, we just happen to be the first because very few Baratheons have ever married Lannisters and the seed is strong as regards hair-colour in both Great Houses” Octavian countered. “If you can demonstrate otherwise with something more resembling actual proof rather than conjecture, speculation and self-interested insinuation I’ll sit down and let you right now” he offered looking to Stannis before pausing. “I’ll take your silence and that glare you’re directing my way as indicating you can’t” he continued eventually, turning back to those watching.

Tywin Lannister, attending as both Hand of the King (or rather the Lord Regent) and also as Lord of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands had taken hours of persuading to accept that his grandson could do his own talking, even after testing the boy with searching, awkward questions of his own as a test, but now he found himself almost as shocked as everyone else at how well Joffrey was doing. An initially concerned expression on his face had gradually morphed into wide-eyed surprise and now creeping admiration as Stannis was mercilessly outplayed.

“It was interesting that you seem to accept that my mother’s first, dark haired child, was your nephew but not her subsequent offspring” Octavian remarked, in an almost off-handed manner. “A curious man might wonder how King Robert only managed to get her pregnant the once in so many years of marriage” he continued, feigning a quizzical expression. “I mean, with four children born to her Queen Cersei is clearly fertile so perhaps we are meant to think that Robert wasn’t particularly fertile himself?” he theorised, pausing for effect before shaking his head, dismissing the notion. “No of course he _couldn’t_ be could he, because of all those dark-haired bastard offspring with other women you listed earlier” Octavian recalled. “It doesn’t add up does it?” he asked rhetorically before starting to pace up and down.

“Maybe King Robert just wasn’t having sex with his wife all those years, preferring barmaids and whores to the bed of one of the most beautiful women in all Westeros” Octavian now suggested. “No that would mean he wasn’t smart enough to be suspicious that his wife kept getting pregnant without his…” Octavian paused again, “ _input_ into the process” he finished his sentence to more laughter.

“He was probably too drunk to realise” Stannis interjected, ever more annoyed at the way the boy was winning over the men he needed to win over by humour as much as reason. 

“Perhaps, but his being drunk all the time didn’t seem to stop him getting all those other girls pregnant did it” Octavian dismissed that argument immediately.

“There are ways to end or prevent a pregnancy” Stannis muttered.

“Speak up please Lord Stannis so everyone in the hall can hear you” Eddard Stark requested.

“I said, there are ways to prevent or end a pregnancy” Stannis practically bellowed in annoyance at the request.

“Yes, Moon Tea for example” Octavian agreed. “But how would my mother know who she was pregnant by, her dark-haired husband or a hypothetical other man she was bedding at the same time?” he asked. “And get it right _every_ time?” he added, looking at Stannis with a patronising expression you might give a young child making a deeply foolish statement. 

Octavian sighed. “Uncle Stannis, I know that it would be in your interest for me to _not_ be your nephew but have you ever considered that your opinion on the matter might be badly clouded by that self-interest?” he suggested. “If we accepted your arguments then practically every man in Westeros that thinks he could run things better than his elder brother could use the same ones to seek to replace him, because _their_ case would hold just as much water as _yours_ does” he continued. “That being not much to be perfectly frank” he stated almost apologetically, “as I think most everyone in his room has the intelligence to realise” he continued after a short pause, looking around from face-to-face and being greeted by more than a few nods of agreement. 

“As for myself” Octavian spoke again , “if anyone on the Great Council wishes to ask me any questions, or come up with a better argument than _you_ have, I am at their disposal” he announced. “Let’s face it, they couldn’t come up with a much worse one” he added sardonically as he headed back to his seat. “Your turn” he said, offering Stannis back the floor.

Some claimed later that they saw Tywin Lannister grin at that moment, but few told the story believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _As[Master-of-Ships](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Master_of_ships) Stannis controlled most of the Royal Fleet, with his naval strength far greater in relative terms than his limited land forces. As such he would want to attend a Great Council by the shore, hence wanting it to be held in King's Landing rather than [Harrenhal](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Harrenhal) where the Great Council of 101AL took place. _
> 
> _The[Iron Islanders](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Iron_Islands) don't like the other Westerosi but since the Great Council resembles their own [Kingsmoot](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Kingsmoot) tradition they are going to be more inclined to go along with it than they would most political moves. _
> 
> _The short-lived[first born son](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Cersei's_black-haired_son) of Cersei having dark-hair is show canon rather than book by the way. _


	21. Part XXI

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"The Free Folk do not kneel"_

**Mance Rayder, King-Beyond-the-Wall**

 

_"I wasn't aware that had been asked of you, but I must say that must severely impinge on the variety of your love-lives."_

**Tyrion Lannister**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

When deciding upon something of such import to the realm as deciding the next king it would not only be incautious to reach a decision too quickly, but also unseemly in the extreme. Undue haste might be seen rash and moreover if one of the claimants was seen to be trying to rush the process that could easily be interpreted as indicating they lacked confidence in the veracity of their case and the level of their support.

More importantly a Great Council was a wonderful opportunity for attendees to network with other noble families from all over Westeros behind the scenes, form new alliances, do business deals, arrange marriages and eat and drink well at the expense of the capital since the crown was reluctantly picking up most of the bill.

Already three days into their deliberations Eddard Stark was wondering if he should impose an expense limit on the delegates, as well as publicly reprimand one of the Reach Lords for trying to claim back money he had spent visiting a brothel, but he opted to grin and bear it for now, not that he was one to grin much at all normally.

That wasn’t to say that for all his grim persona Ned Stark wasn’t amused by some of the things going on around him. According to Varys, always well informed about most everything, a number of Lords had been very disappointed that they had not been approached by Tywin Lannister offering a bribe for their votes. According to the Master-of-Whispers this had resulted in Lord Tywin telling one of them point-blank that you only bothered to bribe people when the result was in doubt, and if they weren’t happy about it they were perfectly free to support Stannis’s claim but should keep in mind that backing the losing side was bad for your future prospects.

Another event that amused everybody, with one notable exception, was when Theon Greyjoy, who had accompanied Rob Stark down from Winterfell, inadvertently made a play for a girl he met while out visiting a tavern with his friend only to discover it was his own sister. Fortunately Yara had recognised him so nothing came of it but finding it very funny she only let on after two hours of being plied with drinks. Rob thought it was absolutely hysterical and the following day approached Balon Greyjoy with a suggestion that the Stark family give Theon back to him in return for his sister who was a lot more fun and could hold her drink better than her brother too. Whether or not Balon knew it was meant as a joke he outright refused right in front of Theon and then criticised his son’s expensive clothes complaining they were paid for with coin not the proper way by the iron price.

Theon thereafter looked so miserable that his sister dragged him back to another tavern and paid for his drinks, which was nice he thought, although he could have done without her later drunken comments about Rob Stark and the possibility of inventing the “Salt Husband”.

As for the other Great Houses, the Martells were giving nothing away but given the way Mace Tyrell was praising Joffrey’s oration to the rafters to everyone he encountered it was likely he had decided which way the wind was blowing and wanted to make sure he wasn’t just on the winning team, he was its most vocal supporter.

Stannis of course always looked miserable, so it was hard to tell if he agreed with the general sentiment of the Great Council that he would be best advised to just bugger off back to Dragonstone and hope the boy king still thought of him as family rather than the man who tried to take the throne from him.

Those keeping book, and there were plenty with a wager on the outcome of the council, were not giving Stannis very good odds from the start and they had been slashed still further after reports of his verbal savaging had spread.

Knowing that while you needed to look confident and self-assured it wasn’t good policy to appear too smug and cocksure, if even for no other reason sometimes than because the gods liked to punish hubris, Octavian did his best to damp down that element of his character for now. It was difficult though when half the aristocracy of Westeros seemed eager to kiss his backside and most of the rest at least didn’t want to make an enemy of him.

That wasn’t true of _everyone_ of course and Octavian fought back the urge to visibly react when walking down a corridor he turned a corner and almost walked right into the member of Stannis’s own delegation who was being talked about even more than the man himself.

“The Lady Melisandre I presume” Octavian greeted the striking red-haired women who was wearing a long dress and cloak the same colour, the dress featuring a plunging neckline which showed considerably more cleavage than you would normally see in Westerosi fashion. “Showing her around, Thoros?” he asked the man next to her.

Looking unusually presentable for him the resident Red Priest of King’s Landing Thoros of Myr nodded. He might even be sober for once, Octavian thought to himself, maybe the man had felt the need to smarten up with another of the clergy of the faith of R'hllor in town, he wondered?

“Yes, I am” Melisandre confirmed. “And you would be Joffrey, the pretender to the Iron Throne” she continued with a superior expression and tone-of-voice. She spoke the Common Tongue of Westeros very well it seemed, but the accent of her homeland remained strong nonetheless. 

“Pretender? No you’ll find me quite genuine” Octavian replied sweetly.

Stood shadowing him a step behind, his bodyguard Sandor Clegane had one hand on the pommel of his sword trying to look intimidating but was frankly amazed that the boy was able to talk to her face not her exposed cleavage. If the Red Priests had any sense they would have sent _her_ instead of Thoros to try and convert King Robert to their faith, she would have had a lot more success than a lunatic drunkard best known for swinging a flaming sword dipped in wildfire.

“Genuine?” Melisandre responded with a knowing smiling. “The Lord of Light sent me a vision through the flames that told me Stannis is the prince that was promised, Azor Ahai reborn who will drive back the coming darkness, _he_ is the true king not you” she declared.

“Fortunately the Great Council gets to make that decision, not the follower of a mystical religion from the East” Octavian replied with a chuckle.

Melisandre looked at him askance. “Who are you to mock the one true faith?” she asked rhetorically.

“I wasn’t mocking your religion, just one of its followers” Octavian replied evenly.

Moving faster than he could have possibly expected Melisandre snapped forward and took hold of him under the chin bringing her own face close so they were nose-to-nose and looking each other directly in the eyes, neither blinking. “Hold your sword Clegane” Octavian ordered, voice remaining steady as his bodyguard drew his weapon. “Lord Stark commanded no bloodshed and we will follow his rules and the law of Sacred Hospitality” he added firmly.

“Now we will see how genuine you are” Melisandre announced with a knowing smile, looking deep into the boys eyes.

For what seemed like an age, but was likely just a few seconds, her expression remained the same but then her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “What _are_ you?” she demanded to know. “The eyes are a window to the soul but your window looks out elsewhere, shows another place” the Red Priestess tried to look even deeper as Octavian fought the urge to abandon his patrician calm and break away.

Sandor Clegane looked to Thoros of Myr for an explanation but the Red Priest looked as mystified as he was by the turn of events as Melisandre continued to speak.

“Eagles” she said, “Eagles made of bronze leading men into battle” she said, yet to even blink as she stared into Octavian’s eyes. “Men raised by wolves, a city built upon seven hills with seven kings, kings overthrown by the people,” she continued. “The people” she repeated herself, “the senate and the people” she said, voice trailing off.

Melisandre let go of Octavian and took a step back, a shocked expression on her face. “The foremost, the first, the first citizen” she said to herself out loud. “How could I have been so wrong, but then how could I have known?” she asked rhetorically as if cursing herself for making a mistake while realising it was nonetheless unavoidable. “I understand now, I have seen the way, its _Princeps_ not Prince!” she exclaimed as if in revelation. “The Princeps that was promised!” Melisandre declared, a look of rapture written on her face.

Eventually after a subsequent long silence Sandor Clegane coughed. “Did that make _any_ sense to either of you?” he asked both the boy under his guard and Thoros, the latter shaking his head and wishing he hadn’t stayed sober that day.

It made a little bit too _much_ sense to a stunned Octavian but he certainly wasn’t about to say so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _I found the scene in GoT where[Theon Greyjoy](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Theon_Greyjoy) unknowingly tried to seduce his sister [Yara](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Yara_Greyjoy), who he hadn't seen in years, when he returned to the Iron Islands was really funny so I had to include something similar. Their father [Balon](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Balon_Greyjoy) much prefers his daughter to his son. _
> 
> _Taking a kidnapped[Salt Wife](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Salt_wife) as a slave concubine is a tradition among men in the Iron Islands. Yara apparently likes the look of Rob Stark. _
> 
> _The Red Priestess[Melisandre of Asshai](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Melisandre) was able to see either Arya's past or future (or both) looking into the eyes of Arya Stark. Looking into Octavians freaked her out completely! _
> 
> _The[prince that was promised](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/The_prince_that_was_promised) is a prophecy that a hero will come to save the world. The followers of [R'hllor](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/R%27hllor), the Lord of Light, associate him with [Azor Ahai](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Azor_Ahai). The word prince actually finds its route in the latin Princeps, which was used to describe the "First Citizen" or Princeps civitatis of Rome and was first used as a title by Caesar Augustus when he established the [Principate](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Principate)... someone decided Westeros needed Octavian more than Rome did! _


	22. Part XXII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

 

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_"Don't make me come over there."_

**Supposed letter from King Joffrey Baratheon to Queen Daenerys Targaryen... considered apocryphal.**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Stannis Baratheon was not a man that liked sycophants, for him a straight-talker from the gutter was worth more than a yes-man from a noble house which was why Ser Davos Seaworth was probably the only man he considered an actual friend. That didn’t mean you always wanted to hear what they had to say though. “I don’t know why you put any faith in her to start with” Seaworth remarked as they walked together through the gardens hoping to avoid being overheard too much.

Stannis stopped walking and turned his head slightly to glare at the closest gardener, the man blanching at his expression and quickly scurrying away. “I should have realised something was wrong days ago when she kept avoiding me, the woman is practically a shadow normally” he muttered, grinding his teeth.

“Aye well, I can see why she wouldn’t want to tell you herself, you’re not one to take betrayal lightly” Seaworth observed.

Jaw still clamped shut Stannis continued speaking through gritted teeth. “She actually dispatched a raven to my wife in Dragonstone and got her to send me a letter saying I should bend the knee to that sarcastic little in-bred bastard” he told the other man bitterly.

“Ah, so _that’s_ what it said on that piece of scrunched up paper you threw at me” Seaworth realised, thinking it might be time to learn to read if things that interesting were to be found in letters.

“I overheard a bloody hedge knight laughing at me earlier, a bloody _hedge-knight_ , the man was practically a peasant” he said before remembering who he was talking to. “No offence meant” he apologised to his low-born companion, although knowing his manner Davos Seaworth hadn’t taken any. If Stannis was insulting you it was done with more bluntness and far more directly than that. 

“What was he saying?” Seaworth queried, intrigued as to what had riled Stannis up so much.

“He was joking that he had heard that even my own mistress had deserted me for Joffrey and supposed that _not only_ was I a worse speaker than a boy barely old enough to shave he must be better in bed too” Stannis growled.

The old smuggler grimaced. “You didn’t punch his teeth down his throat or something did you?” he asked. “Because in your shoes I might have done” he said. “My right jab isn’t what it was but I still throw a mean left hook.”

“We’re living under the rule of Guest Right here Ser Davos” Stannis reminded the man.

Seaworth nodded. “Fortunate for his teeth I suppose” he replied. It was a rule of conduct right across Westeros that _nobody_ would break the law of sacred hospitality, with a man as strict to obey the rules as Stannis even less likely to break it than anyone else. Not only was it a great sin to violate that law under the beliefs of the Faith of the Seven, but also those of the Old Gods and even the Drowned God of the Iron Born, so it was vanishingly rare to occur.

Stannis had never been a man to show his emotions generally but quiet rage was a specialty. “And do you know what really makes me mad?” he asked rhetorically.

“Well you’re none too keen on smuggling, I know that for a fact” Seaworth quipped, unconsciously reaching for the small leather pouch he wore around his neck that held his severed finger bones.

“What _really_ makes me mad” Stannis continued, ignoring him, “is that I _knew_ it wasn’t the right time to press my rightful claim but that red-haired bitch convinced me otherwise” he complained. “There she was prattling on about signs and portents when I should have been paying attention to the politics.” 

Davos Seaworth shrugged. “She knows her way around a man’s mind, I’ll say that for her” he responded. “Naked at the time was she?” he asked curiously.

Stannis turned and glared at his friend. “No she wasn’t” he replied coldly.

“Pity, at least it wouldn’t have been all bad” Seaworth suggested, receiving another glare in response. “It’s a good thing you didn’t go through with that notion of hers that you should move on from burning statues of the Seven to burning people or nobody would vote for you” he said with some justification. Even the mere rumours of that particular sacrilege, leaking out from Dragonstone in the last few weeks via the men of the Royal Fleet, had stripped Stannis of some of the little support he had previously enjoyed among the nobles houses of the Stormlands.

For his part, despite the Red Priestess now apparently going around King’s Landing extolling his virtues as ‘The prince that was promised’, Joffrey had been doing his best to avoid the woman, not wanting to be associated with her and had issued a statement that under his rule all faiths would be tolerated as long as they tolerated the others. He did not want return to the religious wars of ages past he said, citing what occurred when the Andals brought the Faith of the Seven to Westeros and burned the Weirwood trees held sacred by followers of the Old Gods. That had been just as wrong as the recent burning of the statues of the Seven at Dragonstone and showed the dangers of fanaticism hailing from any quarter.

There were good men and bad men among those that followed the Faith of the Seven, Joffrey had written, and good men and bad men that followed the Old Gods of the North, the Drowned God and the Storm God of the Iron Islands and among the minority who still worshipped Mother Rhoyne in Dorne. Much to the man’s embarrassment Joffrey had then cited Thoros of Myr as a good man of his own acquaintance that worshipped R’hllor, a good man who had fought with notable courage at the siege of Pyke and who had made many friends among followers of other faiths, despite being a Red Priest himself. All those who burned the statues on Dragonstone would be told that if they couldn’t live in peace with the followers of the existing religions of the Seven Kingdoms then they should pack up and head for Essos. If they _were_ willing to live in peace with other faiths then they could stay however, Joffrey had declared, but they had better damn well sincerely apologise for the offence caused and accept that in Westeros you don’t try and force your religion down another man’s throat.

Of course Joffrey had also made sure to include a few biting comments about how _he_ would never have allowed anyone to desecrate the religious symbols of any of the peoples he wanted to rule over in the first place.

Stannis disliked the opportunistic little son-of-a-bitch more every day, but he was developing a grudging respect for the boy’s ability nonetheless. You don’t hate someone for being incompetent in the Great Other’s work, you hate him for competence in it. Admiration for the technique was a necessary part of the process.

“So what are you going to do now?” Seaworth asked. “I can’t see the decision of the council going your way” he told him honestly.

“I’ll not bend the knee Ser Davos” Stannis told him. “If the council votes against me and denies me what is rightfully mine then I’ll obey the law, but I’ll not bend the knee to a bastard.”

Seaworth sighed. “They might cut your head off if you don’t” he pointed out.

“Then it’ll become your task to put my daughter on the Iron Throne somehow when I’m gone” Stannis told him earnestly.

Stannis Baratheon was always a hard man to like, Seaworth though to himself, but sometimes he seemed to go out of his way to make it even harder. The man simply expected too much of people, held them to a practically unattainable standard, albeit including himself to be fair. “I’ll do my best My Lord” Seaworth responded, fairly certain that his best wasn’t nearly up to the job.

“It’s ‘Your Grace’ not ‘My Lord’ when addressing the king, Ser Davos” Stannis corrected him.

Yes he was definitely a hard man to like, Seaworth thought to himself again sadly as one of the other gardeners present who had been surreptitiously listening in on their conversation waited for the opportunity to quietly slip away from his task and report to Lord Varys. After that he would go relay the same information to Petyr Baelish for a second payment, perhaps slightly altered depending on what the Master-of-Whispers wanted the man to know.

If he was really lucky Lord Tywin might even pay him a third time for the information as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Ser[Davos Seaworth](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Davos_Seaworth) is probably the best friend of Stannis Baratheon, and is loyal to a fault, but he's not one to mince his words. _
> 
> _We see statues of the[Seven](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Faith_of_the_Seven) being burned by Melisandre and the other worshippers of R'hllor at Dragonstone in episode 2:01 [The North Remembers](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/The_North_Remembers). Even if they haven't gotten around to burning people yet that isn't going to be good for Stannis's public relations. _
> 
> _When the[Andals](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Andals) invaded Westeros they brought the Faith of the Seven with them and burned the sacred [Weirwood](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Weirwood) trees that were considered holy by the [First Men](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/First_Men). By drawing a parallel between this and the burning of the statues on [Dragonstone](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dragonstone), and criticising both, Octavian draws the followers of the [Old Gods](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Old_gods) in the north into the fray. _
> 
> _[Selyse Baratheon](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Selyse_Baratheon), wife of Stannis, is a hard-line supporter of Melisandre and convinced follower of R'hllor. She's also a bit crazy. _
> 
> _Hardliners among the Faith of the Seven might hold that burning the Weirwoods was perfectly right but they're not going to vote for Stannis anyway!_
> 
> _The[Guest Right](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Guest_right) is an old rule of sacred hospitality that isn't likely to be broken with impunity. If there is one man that would always obey it, that man would be Stannis Baratheon. _
> 
> _The[Great Other](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Other) is basically the counterpart to the Lord of Light to worshippers of R'hllor. Basically their satan. _


	23. Part XXIII

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

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_"People called Westeros, they go, the house"_

**Graffiti seen scrawled on a wall in Volantis in 315AL. The perpetrator being caught on the scene claimed that it actually said "Westerosi go home" and was creatively sentenced to both the lash and grammar lessons in the Common Tongue.**

 

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** The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL **

Petyr Baelish found himself beside Varys as the two of them stood watching from the side-lines as the teeming crowd made up of the the noble houses of Westeros cast their votes for the next king. Both of them naturally had their spies and other sources of information, so they had a better idea of exactly how many votes were likely to go each way, but there was always a certain level of unpredictability in such things helping to maintain their interest nonetheless.

“I’ve heard whispers that Mace Tyrell and Alester Florent had rather a spirited discussion last evening” Varys remarked quietly.

“Only spirited?” Baelish responded with a wry smile. “From what I’ve been told they were practically at each other’s throats because Florent wasn’t prepared to say in advance whether he would be voting for Joffrey or Stannis.”

“To be fair, although the Florents are sworn to the Tyrells Stannis is married to Lord Florent’s niece” Varys noted.

“And Mace Tyrell is an insufferable oaf that would have tried to catch flies with vinegar not honey when talking to the man” Baelish added for himself. “All he cares about is improving his station by cosying up to the strongest faction he can, and making himself look as valuable to them as possible” the Master of Coin observed.

“With the fractious nature of politics in the Reach being what it is, having a wayward house amongst his own putative supporters certainly does the man no favours” Varys concurred. “I’ve always thought that trying to keep control of that particular part of the Seven Kingdoms must be akin to trying to herd cats.”

“That’s true of every part of Westeros, it’s just that in the Reach none of the cats is sufficiently bigger and stronger than the others to bully the rest into submission” Baelish replied. “Imagine the situation in the north if House Bolton was as strong relative to House Stark as House Hightower is to the Tyrells.”

“One shudders to think of the number of Stark bannerman who would have been flayed alive in such an environment” Varys replied with distaste at such a notion. “Ah, Lord Renly has arrived, this might be informative’ he surmised watching as the youngest brother of the late king began walking through the crowd, stopping to exchange handshakes and pleasantries as he went.

At the front of the throne room, near the Iron Throne itself, Crown Prince Joffrey stood with his uncle Lord Tyrion Lannister while only a few steps distant Lord Stannis stood with his loyal vassal Ser Davos Seaworth. When he reached them Renly stopped an equal distance between Joffrey and Stannis, face initially unreadable for a moment before he smiled and turned to the boy. “Good Morning Nephew” he greeted Joffrey warmly before turning to his older brother “Stannis” he recognised his brother with as little off-handed courtesy as he could muster.

It was worth it just for the expression on Stannis’s face, Renly thought to himself, fighting back a grin as he returned his attention back to Joffrey. “I thought that we could go hunting in the Kingswood again soon” he suggested, voice louder than it needed to be so that it carried. “Your father, Robert, would expect his younger brothers to do their best to assist in raising you correctly, teaching you how to be a man, and support you as he would have done if he was still here” he said.

Despite being quite distant from the exchange Varys would swear he could hear Stannis grinding his teeth.

“Ah well, duty calls” Renly said. “I must go cast my Great Council vote, I’m sure that the other Lords of the Stormlands are only waiting for me to go first out of politeness” he continued. “By your leave, Your Grace” he waited for permission to depart.

“Of course, Uncle Ren… I mean Lord Renly” Octavian replied. 

Still some distance away but easily hearing what had been said Petyr Baelish grimaced. “Ouch” he said quietly, so only Varys could hear.

“Do you think that exchange was pre-planned or simply spur-of-the-moment” Varys wondered, looking out to see the reaction among others who had heard it.

Baelish shrugged. “With that boy and his grandfather scheming together I’d put _nothing_ past them” he replied, wishing it wasn’t so because he would have to remain sharp and keep on his toes permanently to stay ahead in the game. It had been bad enough only contending with Varys but now he also had Tywin Lannister and his annoyingly competent grandson to try and bamboozle too which was quite a juggling act to perform. “Would you care for a friendly wager as to the size of the majority based upon our respective intelligences as to which house will vote which way?” he suggested.

Varys tutted. “You know I never gamble Lord Baelish” he replied. “So yes I would” he added with an amused smile.

Petyr Baelish laughed. “And the stakes?”

“How about the loser owes the winner a favour to be redeemed at a later date” Varys proposed.

“High stakes indeed but you’re on” Baelish agreed.

Still loyally stood beside the man he was pledged to Ser Davos Seaworth could only wish that Stannis had a default expression that was less sullen because this was no time to be projecting that kind of image. If people thought that you thought you were going to lose, they weren’t about to take a risk and support you, and frankly Stannis Baratheon needed all the waverers he could get. It was nigh a certainty that none of the noble houses of the Westerlands would go against Tywin Lannister, and few if any of the northern houses would vote differently than the Starks who seemed highly likely to also support Joffrey’s claim too. Add in the Tully’s, who would likely follow the Stark’s lead, bringing along their own supporters in the Riverlands, and Stannis would have been in trouble even if he _could_ have relied upon the support of the Stormlands, which he couldn’t because he didn’t get along with his brother Renly. Naturally the Tyrells, who had the backing of most of the Reach, were sure to want to back the likely winner which certainly didn’t look like it was going to be Stannis.

For some reason Stannis did seem to think the Vale would support him but hadn’t let on why. It didn’t make sense to Davos Seaworth that Lisa Arryn as the daughter of Hoster Tully and the good-sister of Eddard Stark wouldn’t encourage the nobles sworn to House Arryn to vote the same way as the rest of her family but for whatever reason that was Stannis’s belief. That wasn’t nearly enough to win though, even if he was right.

“I still think you should have tried reaching out to Balon Greyjoy, My Lord” Seaworth advised. “It’s still not too late and the Ironborn respect a good admiral” he said. “Leading the fleet that defeated them at Fair Isle might even go in your favour.”

“Maybe it would but I don’t respect Balon Greyjoy and his band of pirate raiders calling themselves a kingdom” Stannis responded. “And for the last time its ‘Your Grace’ not…” he continued before finishing his sentence and instead frowning. “Have you been _deliberately_ getting that wrong because I just now realised you keep doing it?”

Davos Seaworth winced. “Yes” he reluctantly admitted. It wouldn’t have been right to lie in response to a direct question like that.

“And the reason for this particular insubordination, Ser Davos?” Stannis demanded to know. “And, now I come to think of it, of other examples where you haven’t minded your manners of late?”

Seaworth sighed. “I’m loyal to you, as loyal as I could be, but being loyal sometimes means doing the right thing for someone not what they think they want” he replied honestly. “You haven’t been yourself either, there’s conflict within you, and I hoped to make you see sense and regain your focus.”

Stannis narrowed his eyes. “And do you think that a bannerman has the right to question the man to whom he owes his allegiance?” he asked coldly. “That he has a right to choose which orders to obey, or what courtesies to ignore?”

“No, but he has a duty to a friend who’s an honourable man” Seaworth responded. “And if he’s a good, honourable man _himself_ then he’ll try and help his friend regardless of the consequences to himself” he continued. “I’m your sworn man, and I’ll accept any punishment you want to dole out to me for stepping out of line, but if something as simple as not letting you get too accustomed to being called ‘Your Grace’ stops you getting your head cut off out of sheer stubbornness, and leaving your daughter fatherless, then it’ll be worth losing the rest of my fingers or worse” he declared.

“I’m your Liege Lord, Ser Davos, not your friend” Stannis replied.

“Begging your pardon but to my mind you’re both, Your Grace” Seaworth replied, “Thought I should say it at least once before the Great Council makes its decision” he explained his eventual use of the royal honorific. “You’re as honest and as principled a man as any I’ve met, and if these well-bred idiots don’t see it then to the seven hells with them” he said. “But going there first to lead the way yourself isn’t too smart to my way of thinking.”

Stannis looked up at the towering ceiling, then wistfully to the Iron Throne. “Being told by a former smuggler that I’m as honest and principled a man as he’s ever met is faint praise Ser Davos” he responded eventually.

“I met more decent, hardworking men that stayed true to their word as an honest smuggler than you’ll likely find in this Great Council, Your Grace” Seaworth told him.

“That’s twice in a row you’ve got it right now” Stannis replied.

“It was always your due as the one true king of Westeros, the pity is men don’t always get their due” Seaworth opined.

Stannis nodded, it wasn’t fair or just but it was hard to disagree with the reality even when your instincts were to fight against it. “You received _your_ due, _Ser_ Davos” he said, stressing the man’s title as a knight.

“Aye, from you, and I also earned the punishment for smuggling I received at your hand as well because you practice what you preach and that’s a rare trait to be sure” Seaworth replied. “What’s going on over there do you think?” he queried as with no little amount of commotion the Dornish all seemed to be following Oberyn Martell away out of the throne room.

A steward wearing clothing embroidered with the Lannister sigil came running up to Tyrion Lannister and whispered in his ear for a few moments before running off again heading towards Varys and Baelish. “My Lords” Tyrion spoke up, addressing Stannis as well as Joffrey. “A raven just arrived from Prince Doran Martell in Sunspear has apparently ordered his brother and the Dornish Houses to withdraw from the Great Council without casting their votes, effectively abstaining” he told them.

“Do we know why?” Stannis asked, it was certainly an unexpected turn of events.

“We do not, Lord Stannis” Tyrion replied. “And since _they_ look as surprised as we do my guess is only Doran Martell does” he noted, pointing across to where the steward was now talking to a very startled looking Varys and Petyr Baelish.

“Will this prevent the vote, Lord Tyrion?” Seaworth queried glumly. Nobody had known which way Dorne would vote, they hated the Lannisters and Baratheons both, but merely the possibility they might choose to support Stannis, if only to tweak the nose of Tywin Lannister, was some slim measure of hope now apparently vanished.

“It shouldn’t, Ser Davos, but it’s very strange nonetheless” Tyrion told him. “Then again, nobody ever accused Dorne of going with the flow as regards the rest of the Seven Kingdoms” he said. “The Targaryens integrated to a greater degree in less than three centuries in Westeros than the Rhoynish in Dorne managed in a thousand years.”

“So it just means less votes to go around then” Seaworth reasoned.

“Fewer” Stannis corrected his grammar as Lord Stark appeared and prompted everyone to get back to casting their ballots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the Author:** _
> 
> _Stannis married the niece of the[Florent](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Florent) family, one of the houses of the [Reach](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Reach) nominally sworn to House [Tyrell](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Tyrell). The Reach isn't as stable politically as the other parts of Westeros with the Tyrells matched by other houses almost as powerful such as the [Hightowers](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Hightower). _
> 
> _Stannis Baratheon commanded the Royal Fleet when it smashed the Ironborn fleet at[Fair Isle](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Sea_battle_off_Fair_Isle) during the Greyjoy rebellion. _
> 
> _If you don't get the reference in the quote at the top[click here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIAdHEwiAy8) _ ;-) 
> 
> _Finally I'm pleased to announce that this story has won in its category as best timeline on the Alternative History Forum gaining a[2016 Turtledove Award](http://www.alternatehistory.com/Discussion/showpost.php?p=12092709&postcount=18) _


	24. Part XXIV

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

* * *

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_“In hindsight it seems obvious that soldiers who had fought armies of walking corpses led by ice-demons weren’t going to be particularly intimidated by what they saw as a bunch of barbarian horsemen mixed in with eunuchs carrying spears and a few flying lizards…”_

**Ser Jorah Mormont – 318 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL**

Given the woman’s predilection for hanging around outside his chambers Octavian was by no means surprised to find her there waiting for him with a pleased and expectant expression on her face when Sandor Clegane opened the door to let him out. Unlike on most mornings however the presence of the Lady Melisandre was convenient rather than politically irritating, and besides which he was in too good a mood after the vote yesterday to let a little thing like a crazed religious fanatic dampen his spirits.

Also waiting patiently for his emergence was Ser Barristan Selmy, the man pointedly doing his best to ignore the woman as much as was possible within the bounds of basic civility and the rules of chivalry. “Good Morning, Your Grace” Selmy greeted him with a suitably martial nod of the head rather than the obsequious bow that another man might have. “Did you sleep well?” he asked politely.

“Very well Ser Barristan” Octavian confirmed. “Good thing too as it’ll be a busy day today” he said. “I trust you are well this morning?”

“In fine health, Your Grace” Barristan confirmed. “Will you be attending the Small Council later?” he asked.

“Of course” Octavian confirmed. “And despite the inevitable lengthy analysis of who voted which way and why I hope it won’t be as tedious for you as some of the other meetings have been since you started attending again” he added before turning his attention to the priestess. “And a Good Morning to you too, Lady Melisandre” he finally acknowledged her presence and greeted her.

“Good Morning, Your Grace” Melisandre responded with a smile that Octavian was certain would be short-lived.

“I am arranging for you to visit the Great Sept of Baelor tomorrow morning, there to meet the High Septon and those members of the Council of the Most Devout that are available” Octavian told her. “When you do, you will apologise for the burning of the statues of the Seven and ask forgiveness for denigrating the religion of the majority of people in Westeros” he commanded.

Melisandre’s jaw practically dropped. “I will do no such thing!” she exclaimed in shock before her usual measured self-control reasserted itself. “I was merely doing the rightful work of a true follower of the Lord of Light” she stated in her more typically serene manner.

“If you do _not_ apologise to the High Septon you will be placed on the next ship heading to Essos, and I will give orders that if you ever return you will be thrown into a cell while I figure out what else to do with you” Octavian informed the woman sternly.

“Very wise, Your Grace” Ser Barristan observed, the hint of a wry smile on his face.

“I do not recognise their false gods” Melisandre protested, her calm façade faltering once again.

“Then may I suggest that when you arrive at the Great Sept of Baelor you take a close look at the faces of the statues therein to aid your recognition in future” Octavian sardonically replied. “You don’t believe in the Seven but their followers don’t believe in R'hllor either and it would be greatly in my interests, and in the interests of all Westeros, if people with different beliefs could get along with each other” he continued. “In short, I will not tolerate religious intolerance, so either do as you’re told or I’ll have you deported forthwith” he told her in a tone that indicated this was not open for negotiation.

Melisandre blinked. “But what if they don’t accept my apology?” she asked plaintively. While the Lord of Light always appreciated a good sacrifice from a more personal perspective the prospect of being burned at the stake herself by angry clerics was none too appealing.

“They will, I’ll talk to them in advance, but you’d better expect a few harsh words and be ready to accept them in good grace” Octavian told her. Fortunately the High Septon was known to be corrupt so it shouldn’t be too hard to persuade him to be lenient as long as the motivation was sufficient.

The red priestess collected herself. “As Azor Ahai commands” she acquiesced with a bow.

“Good, now you had better go get working on that apology and practice looking contrite in the mirror hadn’t you” Octavian advised her as if talking to a child. “Next order of business I think” he said brightly, clapping his hands together. “On to the Lord Regent’s quarters” he declared haughtily, striding off with his bodyguard Sandor Clegane and an amused looking Ser Barristan following on behind.

“I miss believing that Stannis Baratheon was the chosen one of R'hllor” Melisandre muttered to herself sadly as she pondered whether or not wearing a dress that showed plenty of cleavage would be a positive or negative when dealing with the High Septon.

Eddard Stark, now also confirmed in his own role as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm, had then made clear to everyone that with the Great Council now formally dissolved the crown coffers would no longer being paying the living expenses of the multitude of greater and lesser noble houses temporarily residing in King’s Landing so if they wanted to stay for the coronation they would fund doing so out of their own pockets. Robert Baratheon was no longer the king and his spendthrift ways were over.

Lord Stark also made it clear that the tournament to be held in honour of the coronation would also not be offering prizes of tens of thousands of gold dragons. Needless to say this resulted in a few murmured complaints about skinflint bloody northerners and the old joke being much repeated that the copper wire sometimes used by maesters in their experiments was invented accidentally by two members of House Stark arguing over a penny.

Although the way some of the Houses had voted, or had _not_ voted, the day before had been surprising in the end the overwhelming majority had cast their ballots in favour of Joffrey. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say in many cases they voted _against_ Stannis and Joffrey merely benefitted by default. Regardless of motivation however the succession to the Iron Throne was now clear and other matters needed to be attended to immediately, including what to do with the failed rival for the crown.

“Wait outside please Ser Barristan. You too Clegane” Octavian requested as they eventually arrived at their destination, the guards at the door belonging to Lord Stark’s retinue bowing to him before they opened the door.

Octavian knew that appearance was important, he was an actor on the greatest stage of all, so he made sure to wear a grave expression as he entered Eddard Stark’s office. “Lord Regent” he greeted the man himself. “Lord Stannis” he went on to acknowledge the third person in the room. “I’m glad to see you accepted our invitation to meet.”

“Your Grace” Eddard Stark responded, rising from the chair he had been sat on facing Stannis Baratheon, the latter scowling and not initially following suit. “Whether you’re happy or not with the title a man holds you should still respect the title itself Lord Stannis” Stark observed reprovingly.

Stannis frowned for a moment. “You’re right of course Lord Stark” he conceded, rising to his feet. “Your Grace” he greeted Octavian properly, albeit grudgingly. The Great Council had voted the wrong way, denied him what was his by right, but their erroneous decision was legally binding nonetheless Stannis considered glumly.

“With your approval Lord Regent, I think this might go better if we dispense with a few formalities and speak plainly” Octavian suggested, looking to Eddard Stark for agreement.

“I’ll never object to plain speaking as long as due respect is shown to all parties” Eddard Stark concurred.

Stannis retook his seat once Octavian took his own and looked at the young man askance. “If we’re speaking plainly then I’ll save you the bother of asking if I’m going to pay you homage at your coronation because I won’t” he stated firmly. “The Great Council might have voted you the Iron Throne but just because it’s your legally doesn’t make it yours _rightfully_ ” he maintained.

“You know that might be considered a treasonous attitude Uncle Stannis” Octavian pointed out placidly.

“You’re no nephew of mine, boy” Stannis responded coldly.

“As might that statement as well” Octavian noted, smiling regardless. “Fortunately while you don’t believe I’m your brother’s son I do believe that” he lied. “As such I don’t want the blood of my own kin on my hands and I am therefore willing to go a long way to keep them clean.”

“Just say what it is you’re going to say and I can turn you down and get on with my business” Stannis told him. “I’m only here because Lord Stark requested this meeting on your behalf and he’s a man of honour that I respect.”

Octavian nodded. “Very well, Lord Stannis, here is my offer” he began. “If you agree to offer me fealty at my coronation then afterwards you can return home to your family as Lord of Dragonstone and given your proven war record in defeating the Ironborn fleet a decade ago you _might_ even get to keep your position on the Small Council as Master-of-Ships.”

“I’d sooner face the executioner’s block than bend the knee to a bastard” Stannis told him sternly. “Since we’re speaking plainly” he added, looking to Eddard Stark who was now glaring at him for the insult to the new king.

“Do you actually want to die?” Octavian asked rhetorically. “There are numerous people in the Seven Kingdoms that would consider my offer insanely generous given the circumstances” he said. “And even more that would advocate your head being set on a pike.”

“Just because men of less principle would do a thing has no bearing on whether I would, and I’m not afraid to die” Stannis told him honestly. “So is this the point when you threaten my wife and daughter in order to get me to comply or does that come later?” he speculated.

“I’m not going to threaten a nine year girl, still less one that’s my own cousin” Octavian responded, sounding annoyed at the implication that he might. “Part of the reason I’m willing to be so generous with my terms is that there are enough fatherless children in the Baratheon family already” he said, looking sad for a moment as it was important to send the right signals. “And before you say that Shireen isn’t my cousin I’ll pre-emptively get in my reply that your thoughts on the matter have no bearing on whether or not I believe she is, and _that’s_ what actually matters as regards me caring about her welfare.”

Unable to think of a good comeback that wasn’t obscene Stannis ground his teeth. The boy was definitely a better talker than he was, which was of course why the smug little sod had chosen to win the throne by arguing not fighting.

“These are very generous terms Lord Stannis” Eddard Stark noted. He also suspected that Tywin Lannister would regard them as overly lenient in the extreme given that Stannis had raised an army in order to try and take the throne and had brought it to King’s Landing.

Stannis looked away. “I’ll not bend the knee” he said more quietly. He might not have the Iron Throne, which should be his by right, but nobody could strip him of his honour.

Octavian sighed. “Very well, here’s an alternate proposal. If you agree to take the black of the Night’s Watch it will be seen as wiping the slate clean as regards past events” he began. “Also if you set out north before the day of the coronation you can avoid having to swear fealty without being seen to have blatantly transgressed against the throne” he continued. “Your daughter Shireen will inherit your lands, becoming Lady of Dragonstone, but I’m afraid she will have to live here in the Red Keep as my ward until she comes of age.”

“While a man you appoint rules Dragonstone you mean” Stannis replied knowingly. “And later you get to choose her future husband” he observed. “No, I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”

“Easy?” Octavian exclaimed. “You’re just lucky I’m so willing to go a long way not to kill you” he responded through now gritted teeth. “Alright, how about if _you_ get to appoint the man who rules Dragonstone until Shireen’s majority, _and_ she gets to choose who she marries” he offered. “With this agreement documented, signed and sealed so as to be binding?”

Although not a man prone to ever outwardly show his emotions Stannis was surprised enough at the concession to raise his eyebrows. Either the boy was weaker than he thought or else he really did think they were related. Running it through his mind Stannis wondered if he could push even further and decided to try his luck. “And Shireen gets to stay in Dragonstone” he went fishing for more.

“Not a chance” Octavian replied curtly. “Many Houses will see her as heir to a rebel so she needs to be kept under scrutiny here in case she becomes a rallying point for future agitation against my rule” he said. “Incidentally I hope you’re aware of the irony that I seem to be making more effort to keep you alive than you do” he remarked.

Not that weak then, Stannis thought to himself. “Perhaps you’re more sentimental than I am” he replied.

“Highly likely, although by reputation there are inanimate objects that would be true for as well” Octavian replied wryly.

Stannis narrowed his eyes. “Don’t mock me boy” he warned. The law of Sacred Hospitality might stay his hand from giving the obnoxious little twerp a much deserved slap but then again it might not if his temper got the better of him. Stannis Baratheon was a controlled man but he wasn’t bereft of emotion, he merely suppressed them and recent events had stretched his ability to do so to breaking point. His old habit of grinding his teeth as a form of catharsis only helped so much.

“Mocking you won me the Iron Throne” Octavian retorted sarcastically, regretting saying it instantly and not just because of the look of quiet rage it provoked in Stannis. “I’m sorry, that was ill-mannered of me to say” he apologised. If true regardless, he thought to himself.

Eddard Stark decided it was wise to intercede. “If Shireen was to become my ward rather than the kings would that be more acceptable?” he asked Stannis, trying to reach an acceptable compromise and realising that the visceral hatred Stannis held for the boy he thought a usurper was a major stumbling block. “She would still live here at the Red Keep but be under my supervision and raised alongside my own daughters.”

Anything was better than for his daughter to be given up into the hands of a bastard born of incest Stannis considered, excepting perhaps entrusting her to Renly whose betrayal by not coming to his side like a brother should was hard to stomach. “With your word of honour that you would look after her best interests Lord Stark?” he requested.

“I would swear it before the Old Gods and the New” the Lord Regent confirmed.

Stannis nodded, no man who valued honour and knew of his reputation would ever question the word of Eddard Stark. “Agreed then” he said simply. “Will I have time to see my wife and daughter before I have to set out for the wall?” he asked, sounding as if he were not emotionally invested either way although he genuinely did love his daughter very much, despite always finding it hard to show it to her outwardly. An outcome that meant Shireen was safe and would still inherit Dragonstone, if not the Seven Kingdoms, while his own honour was not sacrificed was as good as he could have hoped for.

“I think that Lord Stark will concur with me that politically it would be best if you didn’t return to Dragonstone” Octavian responded, “but we can have them collected and brought here before the coronation so you can say your farewells before heading north.”

Stannis nodded. “I will have a raven sent to notify my family but it would be as well to let whoever fetches them know that my wife can be…” he paused, “difficult” he warned.

Given that informants working for Varys reported that Selsye Baratheon kept the preserved remains of her stillborn sons in jars “Deranged” would be a better description of the woman in Octavian’s opinion than merely “Difficult”, but he understood why Stannis would wish to downplay her foibles.

On the plus side while Shireen would remain in King’s Landing by necessity her mother could be sent straight back to Dragonstone after the coronation, making her the problem of whatever poor unfortunate Stannis Baratheon entrusted his estate to until his daughter came of age, Octavian thought with relief.

All things considered this had gone well, he decided. Hopefully his meeting with Balon Greyjoy next would be equally as productive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the Author:** _
> 
> _The[High Septon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/High_Septon) is the highest position with the clergy of the [Faith of the Seven](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Faith_of_the_Seven) and is based at the [Great Sept of Baelor](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Sept_of_Baelor) in King's Landing. Supporting him are the council of the [Most Devout](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Most_Devout)._
> 
> _Regardless of the outcome of the Great Council I just couldn't see Stannis being willing to bend the knee to a boy he sees as a bastard born of incest. Fortunately the option of taking the black and joining the Night's Watch was available to avoid an even worse fate._


	25. Part XXV

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

 

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_“Every so often the thought flashes through my mind that my nephew’s main motivation isn’t actually dreams of world conquest but because he simply can’t abide the notion of any town not having an aqueduct, public baths and a decent sewer system. The legions may think they’re fighting for the glory of Westeros but in reality they’re crusading for the noble cause of better plumbing for all.”_

**The Wit and Wisdom of Tyrion Lannister - 325 AL**

 

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**The Red Keep - King’s Landing – 298 AL**

Octavian looked up from the book he was reading when the door to the Small Council chamber opened. “Good Afternoon Grandfather” he greeted Lord Tywin Lannister. “You’re early”.

“Not as early as you are, your Grace” Tywin responded, taking his own seat at the table, the one reserved for the Hand of the King directly across from where the king himself would usually sit, although it currently belonged to Eddard Stark as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm.

“Punctuality is the politeness of kings, even as-yet uncrowned ones with no real power” Octavian responded with a smile, closing his book. “To tell the truth, given my father’s habit of not turning up for these meetings at all I’m just trying to show I take the job more seriously than he did.”

Tywin nodded. “Very wise of you” he responded. “And since there are just the two of us here I’ll say that as for how Lord Stannis was dealt with I’m not quite so sure of your wisdom there” he opined. “Too much leniency can be seen as weakness” he advised.

Octavian smiled again. “Yes, and if I was concerned with the short-term effects I would have sought to influence Lord Stark towards a harsher outcome” he said, “but playing the long game leniency should make me more secure.”

“How so” Tywin queried, interested in hearing how the boy had reached such a conclusion.

“Many in the Great Council voted _against_ Stannis rather than _for_ me” Octavian began to explain his thought process. “Just because I won does not necessitate that his accusations that I am not the son of Robert Baratheon are false in people’s minds, it indicates merely that I’m not as unpopular as my rival” he said. “If I want to dispel the rumour for good it seemed the best cause of action to make a show of being highly unwilling to spill the blood of a kinsman and thus signal that I _must_ believe the accusation to be false or I would not be so willing to excuse an attempt to usurp my throne” he continued. “Naturally it will be necessary to treat the next person who transgresses against me very harshly in order to not only demonstrate strength and resolve, but also to reinforce the notion that the _only_ reason Stannis got off lightly was because he is my father’s brother.”

“Ah, so you don’t want some other claimant to come forward in a few years using the same argument as Stannis did as justification for trying to oust you” Tywin surmised. “Of course there are those who will say that just because you might think you’re the son of Robert Baratheon does not mean that it is actually true” he warned.

Octavian looked smug. “Fortunately I was keeping a useful piece of information back in reserve in case it seemed that the Great Council were proving susceptible to Stannis’s argument and I’ll be releasing it before the coronation” he replied. “Do you know much about the previous Great Council that was held in Harrenhal two centuries ago to decide who succeeded Jaehaerys the Wise?” he asked.

Tywin nodded. “Naturally before this Great Council took place I made sure to read up on the legal precedents set by that earlier assembly, and the more recent one that took place in my grandfather’s day” he confirmed.

“Of course, but it’s not so much the legalities that are relevant here but rather the personalities and their histories” Octavian told him. “As you know the final two claimants to the throne in the Great Council of 101 were Laenor Velaryon and Viserys Targaryen, with the latter being chosen in the end because his claim came through the male line whereas Laenor’s claim on the throne came from his mother, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

“A perfectly sound judgement” Tywin observed.

“Legally yes, the male line generally takes precedence all things considered” Octavian replied. “Although several houses backed Laenor regardless, including my own, House Baratheon” Octavian told him. “Do you know why?”

“Not off hand, the politics of the day I would expect” Tywin reasoned.

Octavian shook his head. “No, it was more due to family ties” he replied. “Laenor’s grandmother, the mother of Princess Rhaenys, was Jocelyn of the House Baratheon.”

“A fascinating piece of family history I’m sure but I’m still in the dark as to why you’re telling me this” Tywin queried, wondering why his grandson was bringing up this piece of ancient history.

“Because despite being the daughter of Jocelyn Baratheon, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen inherited the silver-blond hair of her father, Prince Aemon Targaryen” Octavian told him, looking very pleased with himself.

Tywin blinked. “You found a child born to a Baratheon in the records that had even lighter colour hair than you do” he responded eventually after a pause.

“Yes, and even better than that we know that when Targaryen’s married outside their own family their silver-blond tended to lose out to the colour of their spouse when it came to children so Baratheon blood _isn’t_ magically dominant over everyone else’s when it comes to hair colour” he said. “It can even lose out to a bloodline that hasn’t proven to be particularly sturdy.”

Tywin frowned. “But Jocelyn was of the female line, unlike Robert” he pointed out after considering it.

“True, but supposedly the archetypal dark hair of the Baratheons is as much, if not more to do with Orys having married Argella Durrandon, daughter of the last Storm King than it is Orys himself so it’s itself an example of female inheritance” Octavian noted. “Believe me, I’ve already been through all the arguments in my head” he continued. “There are probably other examples of children born to Baratheons without dark hair too but we just don’t know about them” he suggested. “The only reason why we even know about Rhaenys is because she was royalty and therefore got written into the history books. If not the books of Great House lineages that overwhelming concentrate on men, not their sisters, daughters and mothers.” 

“How long have you known about this?” Tywin wanted to know.

“Since before the Great Council” Octavian told him. “It pays to do your own research and not just rely on maesters and the same old books they always recommend” he said. “Given the sparsity of marriages between Lannisters and Baratheons, less than a handful since the conquest, there just weren’t enough examples to try and prove his case there so Stannis fell back on the argument that Baratheon characteristics _always_ win out in terms of the child’s hair colour, regardless of who the other parent is” Octavian continued. “That’s why he cited all those dark-of-hair bastard children my father supposedly sired, but Rhaenys and her Targaryen silver hair proves it’s not so.”

“But if you knew about this weeks ago why didn’t you raise it with Stannis? He might have conceded then and there” Tywin suggested quizzically.

“Because if he _hadn’t_ conceded I’d have already used up one of my best counter-arguments and not had it in my back pocket before the Great Council when it would have been most useful” Octavian explained “And more importantly than that I _wanted_ to beat him in front of all the Great and Lesser Houses not in some private meeting behind closed doors.”

Tywin nodded his understanding. “Because you needed to make a name for yourself in front of the whole of Westeros, correct?” he reasoned.

“My father made his mark by defeating the armies of the Mad King” Octavian replied, nodding in confirmation. “Given the absence of a suitably unpopular tyrannical pyromaniac to get rid of myself by force of arms I needed to make my own so by different means” he continued. “I didn’t just need to defeat my rival with logic and argument, I needed to be _seen_ doing so.”

“Very clever” Tywin praised him. “But why didn’t you mention Rhaenys when you were stood before the Great Council?” he queried.

“Calculation based on the fact it was already apparent I was already going to carry the vote by a wide margin” Octavian replied. “By releasing the information _after_ the decision was made those that either abstained or cast their vote for Stannis will be more motivated to make amends, especially as those who _did_ support me will undoubtedly be feeling very pleased with themselves given the confirmation that Stannis’s argument is even shakier than I made it sound in front of the Great Council” he explained. “I fully expect to have a number of Lords apologise profusely for supporting Stannis saying that if they had known about Jocelyn Baratheon and her daughter before the vote they wouldn’t have.”

“It gives them a reason they can use to publically justify throwing their allegiance fully behind you without looking like they’re merely switching sides because theirs lost” Tywin realised.

“Give a man a way to back out of a poor situation without having to look like he’s being insincere, two-faced or dishonourable and he’ll take it” Octavian observed. “I don’t want defeated enemies holding a grudge and resenting being on the losing side, I want them on my side looking to make restitution” he said. “I think the rest of the Small Council are about to arrive, we can talk again later if you wish grandfather” he offered as Lord Baelish entered with Varys close on his heels.

“I think I’d enjoy that, Your Grace” Tywin replied, thanking the Seven that his family had finally produced someone he could be proud of.

Eddard Stark was the last to arrive, having been waylaid by what a courier claimed was an urgent matter of state but actually just concerned someone from one of the less important houses in the Reach having got riotously drunk and smashed up a tavern. He had been arrested and jailed overnight by the City Watch and was now complaining about being manhandled by commoners, demanding his release and their punishment. After telling the courtier to have a bucket of water thrown over the man and for him to be informed that if he wanted to be manhandled by an ill-tempered knight or two instead then that could be easily arranged Stark then curtly sent the courtier away so he could attend to the real business of government.

Being Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm gave him all the authority of a king but apparently with less opportunity to shirk the responsibility and duties than Robert had done. It was not a job that Lord Stark would have ever wanted and he eagerly looked forward to the day when he could drop the entire thing into King Joffrey’s lap and go back home to Winterfell. As it was, at least in the interim he had Lord Tywin to act as Hand of the King, which was a blessing because the man was competent and had previously held the post for twenty years under King Aerys so at least he knew what he was doing, unlike Eddard Stark to be honest to himself.

“So Lord Baelish, given that your own seat in is the Vale perhaps you can explain why Lady Regent Lysa Arryn seems to have been the instigator of so many of the houses of her fiefdom voting in favour of Stannis Baratheon?” Tywin asked flatly, giving the man a cold glare. “Including your own”.

Baelish looked suitably embarrassed. “To be fair Lord Tywin I did not actually vote for Lord Stannis, I abstained because my loyalties and allegiances were split” he replied carefully. “As for why Lady Lysa called upon the nobility of the Vale to support Stannis it seems that she has become convinced that her husband was assassinated agents of House Lannister.”

“That’s ridiculous” Tywin stated. “Why would we do something like that?” he asked. “Go on man, spit it out” he insisted when Baelish prevaricated in his reply.

“It seems that Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Stannis were jointly investigating the possibility of King Joffrey not being the legitimate heir and it was this that she believes led to Jon Arryn being murdered in an attempt to hide the truth” Baelish reluctantly explained.

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “And the fact that my grandson utterly ripped the whole argument to shreds, demonstrating that not only was it errant nonsense but that we had no need to kill anyone over such a load of unsubstantiated tosh failed to change her view on the matter?” he asked sardonically.

“I’m afraid not” Baelish replied apologetically.

“This is why you can’t involve women in government” Tywin growled. “Logic and reason bounces off them like a wooden tipped arrow off plate armour.”

“She misses her husband and is just looking for someone to blame for losing him” Baelish. “I’m sure that in time she’ll stop thinking with her heart and start thinking with her head.”

“Just as long as she doesn’t get the idea to march her banners south to depose a king like her husband did” Tywin responded although it seemed only a very remote possibility, highly strung woman or not. “It might be as well for you and your wife to ask Hoster Tully to intercede with his other daughter before this has a chance to escalate, Lord Regent” he advised.

“I agree” Eddard Stark concurred. He had known for some time of Lysa’s suspicions regarding Jon Arryn’s death and who was responsible but had concluded it was more likely to be someone else with an interest in driving a wedge between the Lannisters and the other houses for nefarious purposes. “What of the Dornish Houses? Do we know as yet why they abstained at the order of Prince Doran?” he asked, wondering if it was merely a coincidence that the Martells, a house notably hostile to the Lannisters, were also up to something. Maybe it was true that the further south you were from the more devious you got, as many northerners had long maintained?

“Sorry I’m none the wiser, but judging from his pleased expression Lord Varys does” Baelish responded.

“I’m appalled that I’ve become so readable, I must work at my inscrutability” Varys quipped. “Lord Baelish is correct as it happens, my little birds in Dorne have done their work admirably” he announced.

“Good, so what are the Martells up to then?” Renly asked, genuinely intrigued to know.

“It seems that the original plan was for the Dornish Houses to vote for Lord Stannis, one of the reasons being because they thought most of the rest of Westeros would vote the other way and saw it as a means to express their precious illusion of a degree of nominal independence without the risk of being invaded as a result” Varys explained. “Much as they persist in retaining the title of Prince, I suppose” he remarked. “However it appears that the communications being sent by raven back to Prince Doran by his brother Oberyn led the Prince to believe that the arguments being presented by Lord Stannis were being made to look so weak by his opponent that they would look foolish to vote in his favour and that abstention was a better choice.”

Renly laughed. “Bloody Dornish, it’s like they revel in being awkward sods” he observed, Ser Barristan nodding his agreement after many decades of experience with them.

“You said that was one of the reasons” Octavian spoke up.

“Yes” Varys confirmed. “The other reason is that Prince Doran and his family still hold House Lannister responsible for the rape and murder of his sister Elia and also the murder of her children and saw a vote for King Joffrey as an indirect vote for you, Lord Tywin” he addressed the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Tywin remained expressionless. “Ah” he eventually responded. “To be fair I can see why he might still be holding onto a grudge” he conceded. “He knows that if the Martells don’t swear an oath of allegiance to His Grace at his coronation that will be regarded as an act of insurrection I assume?”

“He does, and do not concern yourselves, Doran Martell is not looking for a war according to my sources. I think we can expect the Dornish houses to pledge their allegiance like the others, although they might still feign reluctance if only for the sake of appearance” Varys told them. “It seems he just wanted to make a point.”

“Just as long as he doesn’t make a habit of it or he might end up on the point of a sword” Renly commented darkly. “Bloody Dornish” he muttered.

Varys smiled, but not at what Renly had said but rather because it seemed they had all accepted his explanation for the Dornish abstention so readily. The secret to successful misdirection was of course plausibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the Author:** _
> 
> _In case you're wondering, no I did not invent[Princess Rhaenys Targaryen](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Rhaenys_Targaryen_\(daughter_of_Aemon\)), daughter of [Jocelyn Baratheon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Jocelyn_Baratheon) and mother to [Laenor Velaryon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Laenor_Velaryon) (who tried to claim the Iron Throne at the Great Council of 101) and canonically she really did have silver Targaryen hair despite her Baratheon blood. With less than a handful of Baratheon/Lannister matches in the records (in canon only two in the century and a half before Robert wed Cersei, and not enough time before that, or enough Baratheons for that matter, for there to be many more since the House was founded) the case that Joffrey and his siblings can't be Roberts needs to be supported by the argument that all children born to Baratheon's have dark hair regardless of the other parent. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen demonstrates that isn't so. _
> 
> _Petyr Baelish is still playing his games, using Lysa Arryn in the Vale as one of his pieces, and Varys is also playing his own games too._


	26. Part XXVI

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while._

 

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_“That’s a nice merchant fleet you have there. It would be a shame if something were to happen to it.”_

**Lady Yara Greyjoy, Mistress of Ships - 310 AL**

 

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**Dragonstone Castle – Dragonstone Island – 298 AL**

“Now remember to curtsy properly when you meet the new king” Lady Selyse instructed her daughter as they made sure their luggage was being properly loaded on the carts that would transport them down to the harbour.

Although a sweet and generally quite placid child Shireen Baratheon knew where her loyalties should lay. “Father was supposed to be the new king” she replied evenly.

Selyse turned and glared at the little girl. “The Lord of Light chose your cousin Joffrey to rule over Westeros, not your father.”

“Really? I thought it was the Great Council that did that” Shireen retorted, instantly regretting doing so not only because she had been raised to honour and respect her parents, but also because she suspected that her mother would have beaten her several times in the past for being stubborn and rude if not for her father’s refusal to allow his only child to be struck by anyone, even her own mother. “Sorry” she apologised for being ill-mannered, if not for telling the truth.

“You should not mock the Lord of Light” Selyse told her sternly. “It’s blasphemy.”

Still a believer in the Faith of the Seven, rather than having also adopted her mother’s chosen religion, Shireen considered blasphemy against R’hllor a victimless crime but had the good sense not to push her luck by saying so. Despite her mother adoring the Red Priestess, in Shireen’s opinion the Lady Melisandre was creepy, which was one reason Shireen liked Ser Davos Seaworth so much, he seemed to think so too.

The raven from her father summoning them both to King’s Landing and saying that a ship was being dispatched to collect them had surprised Shireen but she was looking forward to seeing him again. Perhaps he would be so sad after losing the vote he might need a hug to make him feel better, Shireen wondered, planning to give him the best hug ever if he did.

The appearance of a large Ironborn Longship off Dragonstone had been a surprise, the surprise increasing greatly when it entered the harbour flying the king’s standard, docked and dispatched a message by rider up to the castle that it was here to collect the family of Lord Stannis.

Unfortunately Lady Selyse and her daughter were not packed yet when the ship arrived and having already waited for over three hours the Ironborn crew were now apparently very annoyed at the delay because two of them, accompanied by a man wearing the armour and uniform of one of the kingsguard, now stomped in through the castle gate and headed straight for where the carts were still being loaded.

“Gods! Aren’t you ready yet?” one of the Ironborn complained, her voice confirming that she was a woman despite her wearing men’s clothes and a hairstyle that was less than feminine.

“Who do you think you are talking to us like that?” Selyse exclaimed at her temerity. “My husband is Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships!”

The Ironborn woman looked distinctly unimpressed. “Bully for him. My father is Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands and Lord Reaper of Pyke” she replied tersely. “And his flagship the _Great Kraken_ is currently sat idle in your harbour waiting for you to get your act together.”

“You’re Lady Yara Greyjoy” Shireen realised, knowing who all the senior nobility of Westeros were off by heart thanks to many hours reading every book she could.

“Ser Mandon Moore, My Lady” the kingsguard introduced himself in turn, bowing to Selyse as he spoke up for the first time. “I apologise for our intrusion but those raised in the Iron Islands are not a patient people I’m afraid.” he observed. “I am here to ensure your security” he told her, less than subtlety indicating with a nod towards the Ironborn that meant protecting her from them if necessary.

Selyse recognised him with a nod of the head after collecting herself and then turned to Yara “I apologise for not greeting you properly when you entered my husband’s keep, but you’re dressed in the garb of an Ironborn sailor” she addressed her cooly. “Not a lady of high status” she pointed out.

“I _am_ an Ironborn sailor, here captaining my father’s ship the _Great Kraken_ on his behalf” Yara Greyjoy replied. “This is my first-mate” she introduced her other companion. “You’re the Lady Shireen?” she queried of the nine year old.

“Yes, Lady Yara” Shireen confirmed, performing a little curtsy as practice for when she met King Joffrey.

“Nobody calls me that” Yara replied, clearly amused by someone doing so. “Are you going to be much longer?” she asked the girl’s mother. “It’s not a good idea to leave a ship full of Ironborn in a port with nothing to do for too long, they start thinking about looting and pillaging the place” she warned, not entirely in jest. “Also there are a couple of goldcloaks aboard to make sure we behave… and I’m worried the crew will eat them” she added, this part being entirely a joke though an awful lot of people in Westeros might have believed her.

Shireen pursed her lips. “Why did you come for us instead of a ship from the Royal Fleet?” she queried.

“The new king asked my father to do so as a favour because our ships are faster than yours” Yara explained.

Shireen nodded. “Of course the _reason_ we aren’t packed yet is because you got here so much quicker than anyone else would” she pointed out. “So really it’s _your_ fault we aren’t ready” she declared.

Yara looked at the child and then to her first-mate before both of the Ironborn burst out laughing. “I like you girl, you’ve got spirit” Yara told her, grinning. Shireen beaming a smile in response.

When they eventually managed to get the longship loaded and underway it soon caught the wind and began cutting swiftly through the water towards King’s Landing at the other end of Blackwater Bay. With the large island of Driftmark to port and entering a safe well-mapped stretch of the sometimes treacherous waters Yara gave up the helm and went to check on her passengers. While Selyse seemed to be disinterested and had gone to the austere captain’s cabin in the sterncastle to quietly pray to R’hllor her daughter was on the main deck leaning over the side watching the water go by.

“Got much experience being at sea?” Yara asked the girl.

“I live on an island so yes” Shireen replied, trying not to roll her eyes at the stupidity of the question. “But I’ve never been on a ship this big that could go this fast before” she continued as the longship seemed to eat up the miles between Dragonstone and their destination.

“In the Iron Islands we build the best ships in the world” Yara told her proudly.

Shireen looked up from the water towards Yara. “That didn’t stop my father smashing your fleet at Fair Isle” she remarked then blushed red. “Sorry was that rude to say?” she asked when Yara raised her eyebrows.

“Rude or not it’s true” Yara conceded. Despite everyone talking about Robert Baratheon’s victory at the Siege of Pyke when the Greyjoy Rebellion was mentioned, in reality it was his brother Stannis winning the war at sea that made the defeat of the Iron Islands inevitable. “So what do you think about your father not being made king?” she asked.

“I’m sad for him” Shireen replied. “But I’m still sort-of glad I’m not a princess any more” she continued honestly. “I don’t think I was a very good princess.”

“Why not?” Yara asked her, curious as to why.

“Because princesses are supposed to be beautiful and I’m not” Shireen replied, subconsciously reaching up to touch the greyscale marks on the side of her face.

Yara sighed, feeling bad for the little girl. Despite the fact that if children survived greyscale they weren’t infectious any longer many people still shunned them as if they were, while others simply stared at their marks. Greyscale was fairly common in the Iron Islands, her own uncle Harlon had died of it before she was born, so she didn’t react to the condition the way others less familiar might have. It was bad luck not a curse sent by some sadistic god. “I wasn’t really what people think of a princess as being when I was one either” she confided in Shireen.

Shireen looked puzzled at her saying that initially until she realised what she meant. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “When your father rose up against my uncle Robert and declared himself King of the Iron Islands that made you a princess for a little while too.”

“Yes, for a few months when I was only a bit older than you are now” Yara confirmed. “I was _terrible_ at it, my little brother Theon dresses more like a girl now than I ever did even back then” she joked.

“I wish I had a little brother” Shireen said. Her father would have loved having a son too, perhaps her mother even more.

“You can have mine, but only if you fight me for him” Yara replied deadpan. “It’s how we do things where I’m from, you have to pay the iron price for what you take.”

Shireen giggled. “I don’t think I could beat you in a fight” she responded.

“Well I didn’t say I’d fight very hard to keep him, you’ll get to meet him soon and you’ll see why” Yara told her, laughing herself.

“Wouldn’t your father want to keep him though?” Shireen asked. Surely any father wouldn’t want to give up his son, she thought to herself?

Yara shook her head. “My father doesn’t like my little brother very much” she told the girl, expression and tone serious now. “Theon’s not really that bad though, I think he just reminds my father of my older brothers that died.”

“Oh, that’s sad” Shireen commiserated. It wasn’t nice to have a parent that didn’t like you, even if you still loved them. _Especially_ if you still loved them.

“Do you want to go up on the forecastle and look through the far-eye?” Yara suddenly asked, pointing up to where the ship’s telescope was mounted.

“Can I?” Shireen asked happily.

“Do you promise not to break it?” Yara checked. “Because if you do I’ll have to replace it with the one on my own ship and it was hard work getting it” she said, not mentioning that the hard work involved slaughtering most of the crew of a Myrish merchantman.

Shireen nodded emphatically. “I promise” she pledged, hand on heart. “What’s your ship called?” she asked as Yara led her to the bow.

“The _Black Wind_ , you’ll see it when we arrive in King’s Landing” Yara replied. She had sailed her own ship from Pyke, following her fathers to King’s Landing, and although Balon Greyjoy had wanted his daughter to collect the family of Stannis Baratheon he had insisted on his flagship being used for the job instead of her smaller craft so as to properly impress the people of Dragonstone.

“Is it pretty?” Shireen asked, causing a couple of the ironborn crew who were nearby to laugh.

“No, it’s supposed to look scary and it does” Yara told her. “It’s smaller than the _Great Kraken_ but it’s faster to make up for it” she said. “Yes it is” she told one of the crew that had thrown her a disparaging look at the accusation that the ship they sailed upon was in any way inferior to another in the Iron Fleet.

“Ser Davos has a pretty ship” Shireen told her. “Do you know Ser Davos Seaworth?” she asked as they climbed the stairs up to the forecastle where the bronze telescope was mounted on a pivot.

Yara began to remove the leather caps that protected the lenses on the telescope “He’s the one that has a ship with an onion painted on its sail right?” she recalled hearing about it once. That was the sort of thing that would get you noticed in seafaring circles, everyone had mermaids or sea monsters depicted on their sails but vegetables were an unusual enough choice for the story to get passed on.

Shireen nodded. “Yes that’s him, people say it looks silly but I think it’s clever” she said before Yara began pointing in the direction of distant landmarks she should try and spot through the telescope.

Later, as night fell, they returned to the far-eye to look at the stars, Yara explaining to the young girl how the Ironborn used them to navigate far from land.

The following day when the _Great Kraken_ sailed into King’s Landing very few people paid much heed, certainly less than a longship would usually engender if Lord Balon was not in town for reasons involving politics rather than reaping. One of those that did take note was Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, who was watching the great vessel approach from one of the towers of the Red Keep overlooking the city docks. “He’s up to something with the Ironborn. I’m not sure what, but he is” Varys observed placidly, turning back to his companion.

“He?” Prince Oberyn of House Martell queried, raising a glass of wine to his lips. Quite how varys managed to arrange these clandestine meetings seemingly under the noses of everyone in King’s Landing never ceased to amaze him.

“Our intellectual and charismatic new king” Varys explained. “I must say it’s terribly frustrating being quite sure that there are clever schemes afoot that aren’t mine, while being almost entirely clueless as to what they are” he bemoaned the situation. “At least with Lord Baelish I can obtain an inkling of the scope of his self-serving machinations via his less loyal, or less discrete underlings, but with Joffrey I confess to being entirely in the dark all too often.”

Oberyn chuckled. “Losing your edge are you?” he asked.

“No, it’s more a case of lack of practice at having another sharp mind to contend with” Varys replied. “The added competition is intellectually stimulating I’ll admit, but it does make one miss the simple pleasures of being able to take time off occasionally to relax.”

“If you’re looking for recreation there are some lovely boys at the brothel I’m staying at” Oberyn told him then paused. “You did like boys, before?” he checked, diplomatic enough not to directly mention Vary’s status as a eunuch aloud in case of any sensitively he had on the subject.

Varys shook his head.

“Really? Girls? I hope you won’t be too offended if I say I wouldn’t have guessed” Oberyn told him.

“Not at all” Varys replied. “But I was never interested in girls either” he added.

“What then?” Oberyn asked.

“Nothing” Varys told him.

Oberyn looked nonplussed. “Everybody is interested in something” he stated confidently. For his part either boys or girls were fine, although he preferred girls slightly more.

“Not me” Varys replied honestly.

“Well despite the lack of an outlet you don’t appear to be particularly stressed at the moment at least” Oberyn observed, taking another sip of his wine. It was Dornish of course, Varys was always good at things like that. Details were his stock in trade.

“Appearances can be deceptive, it’s all a matter of projecting the right image” Varys replied. “A performance for the audience if you will” he said. “I have spent many years honing my skills in that department and I imagine that is why I’m the only one that seems to recognise someone else doing the same thing.”

“Meaning Joffrey” Oberyn surmised.

Varys nodded. “He is indeed a masterful performer in front of his audience, but if you continue to keep a careful eye upon him when he doesn’t think he’s being observed, notice things such as the way his expression changes before he walks on stage as it were, then you realise that he is merely playing a role.”

Oberyn raised his eyebrows. “You think he’s an imposter?”

“Oh dear me no, frankly that would far less unsettling a notion” Varys replied. “I think he’s Joffrey pretending to be a _better_ Joffrey.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Oberyn queried, confused.

The Master of Whispers reached for a glass of wine of his own. He didn’t ever drink to get drunk but it was usually a safer choice than water if you wanted to avoid getting sick. “Even when he was generally perceived as nothing but a vile, venal, vicious and vindictive little brute, a more careful student of his nature would notice that Joffrey always seemed to have the knack of affecting the charming handsome prince when it suited him” Varys began to explain. “The discovery later that he was actually much brighter than we all thought, being merely lazy and indolent as a child rather than grossly stupid, explained why he could do that and my suspicion is that he has merely expanded his acting repertoire” he said. “Perhaps once some of his schemes become apparent, a few of his plans come to fruition, or if he feels comfortable and secure enough to dispense with some of the ongoing mummers performance I’ll be more certain, but for now all I can do is continue to make contingency plans to deal with him if the need arises.”

Oberyn pondered the theory. It was certainly unsettling as Varys maintained. “If he’s still the monster they said him to be as a child, merely one that learned that it would be better not to seem like one to others, then I can understand why you’re so concerned” he said. “The last fiend who ended up on the Iron Throne may have gone too far and ended up slain by one of his own kingsguard but…”

“But someone more perceptive than Aerys, someone who is also aware of their own predilection for doing monstrous things, might well seek to project a public image rather less likely to lead to their messy demise” Varys finished the thought for him.

“He would also seek to strengthen his rule as far as possible by making alliances, so that if the mask ever skips a little he remains secure nonetheless” Oberyn continued to theorise before frowning. “You really think he’s a new Mad King Aerys?” he asked, still not fully convinced.

“Worse. I think he might be Mad King Aerys with enough sense not to kill anyone important enough to trigger a civil war that would remove him from the throne” Varys replied. “I know I have a reputation for being at least marginally duplicitous at all times, but please believe me when I say that when I look in that boy’s eyes I see cold calculation without so much as a smidgen of humanity to moderate it and it _terrifies_ me” he said earnestly.

“Aerys with Tywin Lannister’s intellect is a horrible notion as you said” Oberyn agreed. “Surely if you are correct you can’t be the only person close to the royal household to have similar suspicions?”

Varys sighed, then smiled weakly. “Alas of the people that might have had an inkling, they are all burdened by personal baggage that prevents them seeing the truth despite their undoubted high intelligence” he said. “Petyr Baelish for example possesses an ego that prevents him realising that he might be a piece on the board not the player moving them while Tyrion Lannister is far too pleased by the possibility that Joffrey’s new found sense of responsibility and love of the written word is a result of his own gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, coaching to realise something nefarious might be afoot.”

“Lord Tywin?” Oberyn wondered.

“Blinded by the shining revelation that he might actually have a descendent to be proud of” Varys replied. “There is one person I believe possibly shares my suspicions however, but it’s not someone you might expect.”

“Do you want me to play a guessing game?” Oberyn asked rhetorically. “Because there are hundreds of thousands of people in King’s Landing and we’ll potentially need more wine brought up if this is going to take a while” he joked.

“I’ll save you the time, and also spare the wine cellar” Varys replied, smiling again. “Grand Maester Pycelle” he told the Dornishman.

“That befuddled, doddery old fool?” Oberyn responded in surprise.

“Pycelle’s bumbling befuddlement is entirely feigned and he’s nowhere near as physically decrepit as he makes out” Varys replied. “It’s all an act designed to make people underestimate him, and it is precisely _because_ he has maintained that act successfully for so long that leads me to believe he sees through Joffrey while others do not” he continued. “Unfortunately however Pycelle’s only goal is self-preservation and staying out of the way of anything dangerous so all he can be relied upon to do is keep quiet about it” he said. “I seem to be the only one that both sees the danger and is also inclined to actually do something to mitigate it.”

Oberyn put his glass of wine down. “And you see Dorne as being important to these contingency plans of yours you spoke of earlier. Hence reaching out to my brother as you have?”

“An integral part of them yes” Varys responded. “Fortunately our interests coincide here as I doubt House Martell relishes the idea of having the undoubtedly brilliant but potentially even more cruel and sadistic grandchild of Tywin Lannister ruling over Westeros unchallenged and unchecked.”

“We would have issues with that, yes” Oberyn wholeheartedly agreed. “So can I assume that when you talk of plans you have other irons in the fire as well?”

“A few” Varys confirmed. Some of which I’ve been working on for many years, he thought to himself, extremely glad of his prescience that they might be needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Note from the author:** _
> 
> _Longships of the[Iron Fleet](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Iron_Fleet) are known to be very swift for their size which is way they are ideal for the raiding and reaving that the Iron Islands likes to practice. The flagship of [Balon Greyjoy](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Balon_Greyjoy) is the [Great Kraken](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Great_Kraken) while his daughter [Yara](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Yara_Greyjoy) captains the [Black Wind](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Black_Wind)._
> 
> _Given the reputation of the Ironborn sending along[Ser Mandon Moore](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Mandon_Moore) of the Kingsguard to keep a close eye on them as they transport [Selyse](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Selyse_Baratheon) and [Shireen](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Shireen_Baratheon) to King's Landing seems wise. If only to reassure the passengers who might be loathe to travel with them otherwise._
> 
> _[Greyscale](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Greyscale) is more common in cool, damp climates (such as [Dragonstone](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Dragonstone), or the Iron Islands) hence Yara's familiarity with it. Her own uncle [Harlon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Harlon_Greyjoy) died of the disease, or so she thinks because in reality [Harlon](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Harlon_Greyjoy) survived Greyscale and was actually murdered by her uncle [Euron](http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Euron_Greyjoy) (that man is a bigger threat to his own family than he is to merchant shipping which is saying something!)._
> 
> _If Varys knew Joffrey wasn't really Joffrey he wouldn't be nearly as wary of him. Hope you like the twist!_


End file.
